


As the Palate Changes

by versus_versus



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: ...sort of?, Alternate Universe - Chefs, Anxiety, Coffee, Cooking, Depression, Fluff, Food Porn, Gen, Knives, M/M, Original Character Death(s), it's a fucking romcom I cannot believe, knives everywhere, no seriously there's so much coffee, tw for ch1: OC character death, unexpected childrearing, workplace drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versus_versus/pseuds/versus_versus
Summary: Armitage Hux is widely known for running his kitchen with military precision, but the staff that make it through the first month or so are loyal to a fault, and every one of them has gone on to run their own kitchen. His personal life has a rather less impressive track record. He’s always been very happy and successful in his career, thank you very much.But when an accident sends his carefully structured life into a spiral and changes in his kitchen threaten to ruin the precise system he’s built, he has a choice: adapt to new priorities or drown under the crushing weight of it all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Life is a minestrone  
> Served up with Parmesan cheese  
> Death is a cold Lasagna  
> Suspended in deep freeze  
> -10CC
> 
> Hey. Hey guess what? This is my hobbit birthday present to y'all. It's an AU somewhat based on the German movie Bella Martha, which I have a deep and enduring love for and would definitely recommend. Hope you enjoy.

It’s a Friday. 10:34 in the morning. Still a bit brisk for March as his breath fogs in the air on the way to work.

There’s only so much prep that can be done this early, and Hux knows he could have someone else do it. But he’s been awake since 6, and it helps to have something to do with his hands while he goes through the plan for the menu and tries to avoid thinking about his sister and her family crashing at his place for the next few days. His kitchen is easier to manage, to control. Everything that needs to be slow-cooked is already going, the meat that needs to be melt-in-your-mouth tender started, and the elements that need to marinated before being cooked to order that evening are already in their spices and oils.

He’s at the point that he can simply ingredient prep, slice and dice with motions that are programmed into his head and have been for most of his life. It’s easy to get lost in the flow of things. This is the sort of prep he doesn’t _need_ to do, but he’s here doing it anyway. Catherine’s told him more than once that he’s got a sous chef and aides for this, but he genuinely enjoys it. There’s a certain state of mind he can slip into while dicing and slicing, the sort of headspace where everything becomes crystal clear.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he’s finishing up slips of papery cucumber for plating, so thin they’re nearly transparent. He’s not ready to break just yet, so he ignores it and finishes the last of the cucumber before swiping it into a container, ready to be covered and chilled along with the rest of the things he’s prepped.

As he washes his hands, his phone goes off again. This time he sighs, dries his hands, and pulls it from his pocket.

Rather than a number, there’s a simple _Restricted_ over the green and red response buttons. He very nearly pockets it again, but something unsettled in the pit of his stomach makes him pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Hux?”

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

“I’m with UCH Medical. Are you related to a Lucille and Alec Kenobi?”

That’s when he knows. He knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t know yet just _how_ wrong.

“Yes?” he answers.

“There’s been an accident.”

* * *

It’s 12:18. Hux sits in the hospital, feeling as though his innards have been removed. He’s hollow, gutted like a pig waiting for processing. It doesn’t feel real.

_We’ll be there in a couple hours. I still know where you keep the spare key, don’t worry about coming back to let us in. We’ll take her around the city a bit and hopefully we’ll be able to catch up in the morning when you’re home from work._

His niece is laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a monitor and an IV. Bruises have started to blossom ugly shades of red and indigo, smearing across her face and what he can see of her arms poking out of her hospital gown. There’s still blood crusting in her hair. It’s not hers.

She’s sedated for the time being, but so far they know she’s got three broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and they suspect she’s concussed. Still, she’s fared better than both of her parents, who are…

He snaps himself out of that line of thought.

The doctor was kind enough, as kind as she could be given the situation. “The sedatives should wear off in a couple hours. She was still conscious at the scene, but they couldn’t get her to calm down and with her ribs, we were afraid she was going to hurt herself even more. We’d prefer she hears it from family.”

For now, she’s asleep. She needs it if she’s going to get through the next few days.

He hasn’t cried yet. Distantly, he knows it’s all going to come crashing down. At some point the shock of it all is going to hit him like the moving truck that had crossed the median and hit them.

Time seems to stretch like taffy as he sits there. It warps, the time between a nurse checking her vitals and a resident reading through her chart feeling like a week.

He texts back and forth with Catherine. _I won’t be in tonight. Family emergency._

_You alright? What happened?_

As he types, his hands are surprisingly steady, but he can’t feel the glass under his fingers as they tap out the message. _Car accident. My sister and her husband are dead. My niece is in the hospital._

 _…holy shit. I’m so sorry._ And then a minute later _Take the weekend, we’ll talk on Monday to see what you can manage._

_Things for tonight have already been mostly prepped, Unamo knows the menu for tonight, she can handle it._

He’s in the middle of typing a wall of text about the menu for the rest of the weekend as another message comes in. _I’ll talk to Unamo and we’ll make sure we’ve got everything under control here. Don’t worry, we can handle it, I promise. Focus on your family._

Family. It’s not like he has much left. Parents dead, sister and brother-in-law dead, it’s just him and his niece. He looks up at her and his heart seems to clench in his chest as she stares back. Her eyes are glassy but she’s finally awake.

“Hey Rey. How are you feeling?” His voice feels raspy, like sandpaper.

“Where are mom and dad?” She looks at him, watches his reaction, and doesn’t blink.

His throat seems to close up on him, and there’s no speaking past the constriction. He bites down on the surge of something ugly and angry that threatens to crawl up out of his chest, subduing it and trying to figure out how to break the news to her gently.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to. “They’re dead, aren’t they? I saw them.”

A cracked “Yes” is the most he can manage.

“Am I going to die?” Her eyes are earnest and wide. Brown just like her mother’s.

“No.” He takes a careful, steady breath. “No, the doctors are taking good care of you.”

She doesn’t ask anything else. She doesn’t cry. She just stares at the curtains covering the window, unblinking.

* * *

When they call him to officially identify Lucy and Alec, he goes into the office with his chest and stomach twisting horribly with emotions that mostly boil down to anxiety. The room is beige and bland, walls, furniture, carpet. Nothing that might upset a patient or their family. He takes the seat that is offered to him across the table from the attendant, and if it’s possible for his chest to feel any more empty, it does.

There are some photographs printed and laid out on the table, face down. Acid seems to rise in his throat as he stares at the watermarked white of the photo-back.

“We’ve got some side shots of her face. Take your time, we’ll start with one and when you’ve got that, we’ll move on.”

“I’d rather try to get through this quickly, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll handle it better if I don’t have time to think about it.”

The attendant looks at him for a moment, then nods. “The identification pictures for the second one are more limited. We do have some other options, but these are likely the easiest. If you can identify him by his tattoos, I’d recommend doing that.”

“He’s got Rey’s name and birthday on one shoulder, with a bird of some kind. Couple of others.”

The attendant picks up the second stack, shuffles through them, and plucks one from the pile, placing it facedown on the table. “If you can confirm his identity from this one, we’ll go ahead and call it.”

Hux doesn’t give himself the chance to think. He flips the photo over and nods. It’s a fairly close-up shot of Alec’s shoulder tattoo. Rey’s name in a flowing script, her birthday, a bird, and a tiny desert rose. For a minute, he even manages to convince himself the picture had been taken while his brother-in-law was still alive.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Alright, thank you. Take your time with the others…”

He can’t think, he can’t stop to think about what he’s going to see because if he does, he’s not going to be able to do it. He flips the small pile of pictures over and grits his teeth. Something in his jaw pops, but he barely notices.

Whoever took the photos did a tasteful job of hiding the worst of the damage. There are only ever side shots of Lucy’s face, from the right. He knows that likely means the injuries were pretty bad, but he tries to block it out. There’s a small cut on her cheek, so far back it almost touches her ear. Otherwise, she could almost be sleeping.

This time, words don’t come. He nods and puts the pictures back on the table, face down.

“I’m going to read you an official statement, and if you can sign off on it, that should be all we need from you for now.” The attendant pulls out a folder with a couple papers. “Or would you rather read them yourself?”

He nods, scans, signs, and hands the papers back in silence. The attendant signs them as well and then puts them in a file. “You’re free to go. I’m sorry for your loss Mr. Hux.”

There’s nothing else to be said. He nods in acknowledgment and leaves.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur. Catherine is sympathetic when he finally talks to her on the phone, and she tells him to take the next week. He argues. It’s a weekend and there’s nothing he can do at the hospital in the meantime. He loses that argument, and finds himself instructed to stay out at least until Monday.

Rey is kept for observation, and it’s left entirely to Hux to plan the funeral. Part of him is thankful he’s done this before, so nothing comes as a surprise, but last time Lucy had been at his side. She’d been the anchor through their parents’ respective arrangements, sturdy and prepared for the worst of everything. Maybe it had come from taking care of mom and dad for so long. He’d never guessed that the next funeral he’d have to plan would be hers.

He settles on two viewings and ceremony, set for two days after Rey is set to be released from the hospital. Closed casket--only for show, as they’ll both be cremated. He almost buys plots in a memorial park in their hometown, three hours drive away. Nothing spectacular, but they’re a couple rows away from their parents, in the shadow of a pair of large willows and just off a pond. Nice enough. Something about it doesn’t feel right, though. Instead, he decides they’ll keep the ashes and let Rey decide where she wants them when she’s old enough.

For awhile, he runs on pure adrenaline. When that starts to flag, he runs on coffee and the last empty dregs of energy left in his body. Sleep won’t come at night, so he caves and fuels himself with more caffeine, planning out the menu for the next two weeks over a night and a half. It’s meticulously outlined and he’s even added suggestions for the wine pairings. It’s not his job, but he knows what these dishes ought to taste like, so adding suggestions ought to make things easier even if the dishes themselves somehow go awry.

More than anything, a feeling of dread takes over him in the days leading up to the funeral. He goes through the motions: shower to wake up in the morning, more coffee, go to the hospital. Rey is released Wednesday morning, two days before the visitation. He takes her home, settles her in the spare bedroom, and lets her sleep as long as the painkillers keep her down and out. Unamo comes over to check on him around noon, and it all feels surreally normal as they sit at the kitchen table, drinking warm drinks and speaking in hushed voices so not to wake Rey. This is his place and although nothing about it has truly changed, it feels foreign.

Unamo, or Mara when they’re not at work, is softer outside of the kitchen. Any sous chef who wants to be successful in Armitage Hux’s kitchen can run a tight ship, but Mara sits at his table and patiently pries bits of information out of him between sips of herbal ginger tea to soothe her stomach. She’s expecting her first child in 6 weeks. Maybe that’s why she’s kinder to him than she has any right to be.

“Have you got clothes for her?”

“I’ve got her suitcase. We’ll need to pick up the rest of her things, but for now, it’s a start.”

“Right, but clothes for the funeral?”

It takes him a moment to realize what she means. “…oh.”

“Can you get up to their house before the viewing on Friday?”

“It’s in their hometown, we’re going to stay there.”

Mara nods approvingly. “She may not handle that very well, you know. Being home.”

“Yeah.”

“Just…try to be patient with her.”

“I am.”

They fall into a lull in conversation. Hux sips his coffee. Mara finishes her tea and drinks from the water bottle she carries with her. They talk about pointless things, if the break in the chilly weather will hold out, the colors Mara picked out for her little one’s bedroom, Catherine’s irritation with a customer who argued the wine selection Friday night. Things that don’t really mean anything.

That night, he doesn’t quite cry, but he lays in bed staring up at the darkness and water leaks from the corners of his eyes. Part of him tries to cry, but he still can’t summon the feeling for a really good, chest-shaking sort of decompression. The only thing he feels is the weight on his chest, crushing his lungs and pushing him down into the mattress.

* * *

The day before the wake, they drive up along the lake, a couple hours north. Rey’s hometown is a sleepy lakefront town that wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for the tourist season. Rey sits in the back of his car, staring out the window in silence most of the drive. When Hux asks questions, he gets one or two word answers, and then more silence.

The spare key is where it always was, hidden behind a false back to their mailbox. The house has only been unlived in for a week, but as the door swings open, the first breath of air inside tastes faintly stale.

The house is carefully decorated in light creams and rich blue. Lucy had always had a good eye for design, and it shows in the space she lives...lived in. There were elements that were clearly Alec’s, but most of the décor had to be Lucy’s doing.

Rey doesn’t cry like he expected her to. She looks around and sits down in the living room, taking a blanket that’s haphazardly folded over the back of the couch and wrapping up in it.

Hux goes back out to the car and grabs the suitcases, as well as the hangars with his suit. Inside, he hangs his suit in the closet of the guest bedroom and braces himself, feeling the weight of living grow heavy on his shoulders again as he goes to fetch Rey from the living room.

“Rey, come help me out. Let’s see about getting you something to wear tomorrow.” He calls down the hall and heads toward her room. There’s a hamper of freshly washed and folded clothes on her bed, probably put there by Alec. Lucy would have insisted on putting it away then and there. The sick feeling swells in his chest and he crushes it.

Rey appears in the doorway, still wrapped in the oversized blanket, holding it around herself with her good arm. “Do you have any dark dresses?” Rey looks at her closet with hollow eyes, then up at him. Silence. He takes a deep breath. “Hon, I don’t know what you have, you gotta help me out here.”

“There’s a navy one.” She pulls it off the hanger with her good hand.

“That should work. We can pick out another one tomorrow.”

* * *

That night, after another dose of meds Rey goes to sleep in her room, but at some point during the night she wakes up and crawls under the dining room table. He finds her there in the morning, asleep under a pile of mismatched blankets.

He lets her sleep while he shaves and showers. The pressure in his chest feels like it’s approaching a breaking point. In the shower he tries to let himself cry, but it doesn’t work. Eventually he gives up, climbs out, and dresses.

Rey is still tucked under the dining room table when he comes out. “Rey. Rey, come on. Time to get up and have some breakfast.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You need to take meds.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You remember how much you were hurting in the hospital? We don’t want that happening again, not today. You’re a tough cookie, but today’s not a good day to try to handle that without your meds.”

She crawls out reluctantly, wrapped in the neon Lisa Frank comforter from her bed.

Breakfast goes no more smoothly. He pours a bowl of cereal and gets out a couple eggs to fry after discovering that the bread has gone moldy over the course of the last week. “A couple bites, alright? No meds on an empty stomach.”

She picks her way through less than half the bowl before she stops and just stares at the rest. She doesn’t even touch the egg.

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, let’s take meds to help with your chest.”

* * *

After breakfast, he lets her lay on the couch and watch cartoons, turned to avoid putting weight on her bad side. She doesn’t really seem to see them. Her eyes don’t track anything, and she doesn’t react to much of anything.

He sticks to the schedule he’d laid out the night before, helping her out of her sling and bundling her into the shower just before noon. She comes out half an hour later looking nearly as rough as she did getting in. She needs help pulling her dress over her head, and after that they spend another half hour in front of the TV as he struggles to just get a comb through her hair.

It’s with a small spark of pride that he finally manages to get her pin-straight hair combed completely out, and then it’s another challenge to get it pulled back into a loose braid. Still, the overall effect isn’t too bad once he’s done. It stays out of her face and falls midway down her back, so it can’t be all that bad.

He gets her to eat a quarter of a sandwich and take another dose of meds, and then it’s time to finish getting ready. He needs to be at the funeral home before anyone else, to try to get Rey used to the idea and explain to her what’s going to happen.

Pants. Shirt. Tie. Jacket. Shoes. He looks in the mirror and huffs out a breath, trying to dispel some of the dread that’s settled between his shoulders. It doesn’t help much.

* * *

They’re getting out of the car at the funeral home before Hux realizes Rey’s matched black shoes with her navy dress, but it’s too late to do anything about it. He grabs her backpack out of the backseat and takes her hand.

In the outer entryway to the funeral home, he does his best to steel himself. He can handle this. He’s already handled this, all the arrangements have been made. Now he just has to get through it all in one piece.

“Do you want to go over what’s going to happen again?”

“No.”

The director meets them in the lobby. She’s middle aged, with a calm demeanor and a black skirt and blazer that says ‘somber’ in a way that ought to be simple, but feels heavy and oppressive. The whole place feels muted but expensive in a distantly tacky way. The lighting is brassy gold and the walls are an aging cream color, while all the fabric and furniture feels heavy.

The director shows them to a private family breakroom, where Hux puts Rey’s backpack down. There’s a tray of sandwiches in the fridge, but Rey doesn’t seem interested. She keeps looking up at the director like she doesn’t trust her, like she’s feeling the same sort of dread that Hux is.

They’ve got about an hour before the doors open for the public viewing, and the director leads them into the visitation room. The very first thing that runs through Hux’s head is inane, completely ridiculous. _Lucy would have had something to say about this carpet._ It’s thick and dark, with an outdated burgundy and teal paisley pattern. _Hideous._

The second thing he registers is how hard Rey is clinging to his hand. She has no nails left because she’s chewed them all down to stumps, but if she did, he would probably be bleeding.

The third thing he registers is the caskets. Both of them. Closed, matching maple, covered in huge sprays of pastel floral arrangements, and…empty, he reminds himself. Lucy had mentioned wanting to be cremated once, hating the idea of chemicals leaching out of bodies into groundwater. She’d always liked sleek and simple anyway. Alec might have wanted something different, but he didn’t have any family that came forward, only a couple of cousins that said they would show up for the service but didn’t seem to want any part in the arrangements. The caskets are a show, something the director had suggested to try and help Rey begin to understand. Their bodies have already been cremated, but Rey doesn’t know that yet.

Rey takes two steps into the room and stops. She lets go of his hand and stands there, paralyzed.

He doesn’t really feel anything but hollow. The counselor said it was the shock, but it doesn’t feel like shock. It _hurts_ , but it hurts in a way he can’t describe properly. The row of chairs off to the side of the room are a welcome relief, and he clings to the back of them as he’s not sure his legs are going to carry him up to the caskets without giving out.

The director puts her hand on Rey’s shoulder but looks to Hux. “I’ll be here anytime the two of you need anything. Just let me know.”

It’s enough to pull Rey out of the train of thought that had frozen her in place. She walks over to stand in front of the caskets, not quite close enough to touch them, not quite to the chairs. She looks at one, then at the other. Outwardly, they’re identical. The only difference is the pictures hung on the displays behind them. Between them, there’s a framed photo from their wedding day, a family photo of all three of them, and a printed page.

In memoriam

Alec James Kenobi

And

Lucille Jasmine Hux-Kenobi

For a time, she stands there, poised between the caskets. She doesn’t really react, just stands, breathing slowly. Then she sits down on the floor without preamble, looking at the large printed card in front of her.

Hux stands, expecting a breakdown he’s known has been a matter of time for her, but it doesn’t come. She just sits there, her eyes eerily empty. He’s not sure what else to do, so he sits down next to her on the floor. She doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps staring at the namecard.

“They’re not coming back.” Her breath is wobbly.

“No.” He takes her good hand and holds it tight. “I’m sorry.”

Rey’s eyes well up and a small, horrible part of him in the back of his mind is relieved that she’s going to do this here and now rather than later. Her face scrunches up and tears get squished out of her eyes before she really starts bawling.

It’s hard to hold her and hug her with her arm in the sling, but he manages. Something about her letting it all out decompresses his chest, and his face is hot and his nose is running and he’s crying, finally, finally. It’s a relief, like getting the weight off his chest now will make the next twenty four hours more bearable.

Hux has no idea how long they sit there, but he rocks her and rubs soothing circles into her back as she sobs, choking on tears and snot. When she quiets, she slumps on his shoulder, worn out from crying. He eventually manages to coax her off of him to let him stand. When she shows no sign of getting up, he stoops and picks her up. She’s heavier than he remembers, but she’s always been small for her age.

In the breakroom, he plops her in a chair and searches around for clean washtowels in one of the drawers by the sink. Warm water gets her face washed up, although her cheeks are still blotchy and her eyes red.

“How about some water?” He hands her a paper cup of water and gets one for himself. His face feels gross and stiff from the dried tears, and Rey is even more cried-out than he is. She drinks it without objection.

“You can come in here anytime you need, alright? If people are too much, or you just need to get out for a little while, you can come in here and take a break. I’ll handle most of them, alright?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe and he turns around to find the director. “We’re going to open the doors. Do you need another few minutes, or are you ready?”

Hux glances at his watch. Scrubs his face with his palms. Pushes a bit of hair that’s slipped free back so it sticks to the rest of his hair. “I’m ready. I think Rey’s going to stay here for a couple minutes and have some water, and I’ll be back to get her in a few. That alright?” He looks down to where she’s huddled at the table, sipping water from the paper cup.

“Yeah.”

The director looks at him and narrowly disguises a grimace. “You’ve uh, there’s…” she makes a vague motion at his shoulder, which he finds is damp and mucus-y.

“Thanks.” He takes a deep breath, takes off the jacket, and leaves it on the back of one of the chairs. It’ll have to be dealt with later.

* * *

In the end, the visitations are the hardest part. Since it’s a closed casket viewing, everyone wants to talk to Rey. Little Rey, who has gotten so big, who is the focus of everyone’s pity, and who looks like she just wants to crawl under a table and hide from all the attention each time she comes back to the visitation room. 

Two hours in, and he’s running on empty again. Hux downs too many cups of coffee from the break room, taking Rey with him each time he goes for another cup to try and give her a break from all the people. He offers her food, which she refuses, and drinks, which she usually accepts. Water goes down well but orange juice upsets her stomach, and when he helps her make a Styrofoam cup of herbal tea, she doesn’t drink it. Instead, she sits at the table sort of sniffing it for awhile. Her sweater sleeve is snotty and damp, but the funeral home is cold. At least the knit is mottled. It hides the worst of the mess.

The first session is from three to five, the second from six to eight. He takes her to a Panera in between the sessions, but the only thing she even tries to eat is the soup-soaked part of his bread bowl. By the time the last of her parents’ friends have dissipated, Rey is wavering on her feet. She clings to him like a lifeline, and on the way home, she falls asleep in the car.

He tries to wake her as gently as he can, but walking inside spurs another round of tears. He holds her on the couch til they stop, and then makes her a plate with some crackers and cheese and carrot sticks so she can take pain meds. While she manages that, he digs out her pajamas and toothbrush.

Later, after she’s gone to bed, he buries his face in a pillow and firmly crushes the welling urge to scream. Instead, the pressure comes out as tears, and he lets them happen.

* * *

The next morning is much of the same. Trying to get Rey to eat so she can take meds, cleaning up, getting dressed. There’s another viewing from 10-12, and then the funeral service.

At the service he can’t cry again. Not really. It’s come up on him suddenly a couple times so far, but every time he feels like he should be crying, it feels locked up in his chest, pressure trying to burst from behind his sternum that never seems to alleviate. Rey cries for a while but it only lasts so long before she’s cried out. The minister from their church, where they were apparently chreaster attendees, gives a lackluster canned speech, and there’s no graveside service to be held, so people mull about in the lobby or try to talk to Rey.

After, the local Lions Club hosts a luncheon at the church, where Rey picks at her food in silence as person after person offers their condolences and a ‘just let me know if you ever need anything’, which rings painfully hollow after hearing it nearly thirty times that morning.

And that’s…it. There are a couple unopened disposable pans of leftover pasta, and Hux asks the volunteers if there’s any possible way it could be donated to a shelter nearby, since it’s unopened. As the last of the group finishes cleaning up from the luncheon and leaves, it’s just the two of them sitting on the front stoop of the Lions Club building..

He needs to call the funeral home and arrange to pick up the ashes. Right now, he can’t do it.

“What now?”

It’s the first thing Rey’s said all day that hasn’t been in response to a question. She looks as hollow as he feels, deep shadows under her eyes making her look washed out.

“Well.” It’s a big question to answer. “You’re going to come live with me. So we’re going to need to get you packed up.”

“Are we going to bury them?”

And this is…not a conversation he wanted to have right now, but she deserves the truth. “Your mom didn’t want to be buried in the ground. Do you know what cremation is?”

She nods, but it’s a brittle sort of motion.

“They were put in a very hot place until their bodies turned to ash. Once you and I decide where, we’ll take them there and spread their ashes, so they can be peaceful somewhere they loved. Maybe the beach, or out in the lake.” He very carefully doesn’t use the word ‘burn’. The director had emphasized that when they’d been discussing how to tell Rey. _Make it sound peaceful_ she’d said. As if anything about their deaths had been peaceful. The thought makes him want to throw up.

“Where are they now?”

“Still at the funeral home. We need to arrange to pick them up.”

“Can we go now?”

He looks at her, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want them to stay there.”

* * *

Rey is the only reason he manages to keep going through the rest of the day. She seems more alert than she has been, and while that’s somewhat of a positive sign, it means that she argues when he tries to talk her out of going back to the funeral home. In the end, he gives in and they go pick the ashes up. He signs for two brown boxes, each containing a smaller maple box that holds the packaged ashes. They’re heavier than he thought they would be.

“They’re very small,” she says quietly, looking down at the box of her dad’s ashes. It’s tucked tightly under her good arm.

That nearly does him in because, shit, he’s not prepared for this. He doesn’t know how to raise a kid, he doesn’t know how to explain to her anything that’s happening without making it worse. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do with the ashes and he feels Rey ought to have some say in it, but she’s still not old enough to quite _get it_ , so that’s going to have to wait and _that_ means he’s going to have to keep them somewhere at his apartment, and _that_ makes his stomach turn all over again even though it shouldn’t…

“Yeah.” His voice holds steady, but only just. “We’ll take your favorite floral arrangement and go home.”

* * *

That night, she slowly falls back into the dazed state of the last few days. She speaks only when spoken to, she picks at her food. He spends the evening working on packing up her clothes in moving boxes he’d found after a bit of rummaging around the attic.

Rey doesn’t really sleep. She ends up laying on the couch most of the night, til she dozes off and he picks her up and puts her to bed.

The next day is spent packing up the rest of her stuff. They work in silence for much of the morning, until Hux can’t stand it anymore and queues up an entire day worth of NPR podcasts.

They manage to pack all the necessities for the next couple of weeks into his car, enough clothes for the unpredictable spring weather, a box full of books, games and a handheld console, and enough necessities to get her through the next month. It doesn’t take long to prep the house, clean out the fridge, and lock up.

It’s another silent drive home.

* * *

When they finally make it back, Rey settles into the guest bedroom and immediately goes to sleep. He spends some time unpacking boxes and doing laundry, but eventually he sits down on the couch, needing a ten-minute break. He wakes up just after 3am, slowly brushes his teeth, and finally flops in bed.

The next day is a Monday, and as he stares up at the ceiling Hux knows he needs to start making arrangements so he can go back to work. He needs to get Rey signed up for school. He needs to find her a therapist. But first and foremost, he needs to find her a babysitter for while he’s at work. Typically, Rey will be in school most of the day, but she’ll still need someone to look after her in the afternoons and evenings when she gets back.

Hux doesn’t know any babysitters. He’s never had any need for one. After considering what a professional would cost him, he finds himself knocking on old Miz Kanata’s door, two apartments down and across the hall. Miz, not Ms. or heaven forbid, Mrs., because she’d thrown that title out the door along with her second husband, nearly five years ago. She had, however, kept the cat and the kids. Both of them had since moved out, but back when he’d still been talking to her before his schedule had gotten so crazy, she’d been sitting for a couple kids in the complex, part time. 

It takes awhile for her to answer the door, and the morbid part of his brain is starting to wonder if maybe she’s died, when the door opens and he’s greeted by her usual owlish expression.

“Must be a fire if you’re knocking on my door, Armie. Haven’t seen you in awhile.” It’s not accusatory, just a statement of fact. Still, it’s aimed to guilt trip him, and it works.

“I’m terribly sorry, life got…busy.”

“I assume you want something, yes? Get on with it.”

“I know it’s been a long time, but is there any chance you could take on a temporary babysitting job? I’ll pay you, of course. I just…don’t know who else to turn to on such short notice.”

She looks him up and down, and he has the disconcerting feeling she’s peeling his skin off.

“Hm. Come in for a few. Sit down, let’s talk.”

“I don’t really have…”

“Get your ass in here and sit down. Tell me your sob story, then I’ll decide whether or not I’ll sit for you.”

* * *

In the end, Miz Kanata agrees to take care of Rey in exchange for her hourly rate which can, on school evenings, be partially paid in dinner. That was provided he give her his schedule in advance, but Hux leaves feeling like he couldn’t have been luckier. An hour later, he does introductions, and Rey seems to like her well enough.

Tuesday is spent registering Rey for school and then following up on therapist recommendations they were able to provide. Wednesday comes too soon and not soon enough. Rey buries herself in a book when he drops her off at Miz Kanata’s and heads back to work.

It’s two in the afternoon when he walks in, and the kitchen, _his_ kitchen, is uncharacteristically loud. There’s a radio in the background playing some sort of alternative rock, and it’s jarring enough to put him off-kilter.

“The entire place _reeks_ of garlic and there’s five spice everywhere, stuck to the surfaces where the oil’s splattered, it’s a mess, and we’ve got a huge table we need to get up before this entire ad agency gets tired of waiting and walks out. So…”

It takes him half a moment to zero in on the cause of the chaos. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. Using his station.

 _Using his station._ His blood runs cold with anger, the full week’s worth of pent-up emotion that threatens to come spilling out now that he’s here. _Here_ , this place that is _his_ , where this intruder has no right to waltz in and change _anything_.

“Anyway, he turns to me and says…”

“Who the hell are you?” Hux says, loudly enough to cut him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, concerns, and comments always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, maybe not the introduction I was hoping for but,” he wipes his hand off on his jacket, then holds it out to shake. “Name’s Ben Solo, I’ve been brought on as your new sous chef.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was my decision.” Without missing a beat, Catherine strides through the swinging doors. Hux blinks. She shouldn’t even be here yet, it’s too early in the day. But here she is, still in flats but otherwise prepared for the evening, platinum hair perfectly coiffed and makeup done. “Unamo needed the extra hands while you were out, and it’s a temporary arrangement unless you approve. If so, he’ll be stepping in for her when she takes maternity leave.”

“There’s no…”

Before he has the chance to go off, she holds up a hand. “Chef, can I speak to you in the office for a minute?” Her smile is forced, indicating that ‘no’ is not an option. Hux shoulders in next to her and shuts the door behind him.

“You can’t seriously think…”

“We need more hands.”

“This is _my kitchen_ ,” he hisses, trying to keep his voice down. “I don’t know jack about him, but I will _not_ have someone coming in and ruining the order I’ve worked so hard to instill in _my kitchen_.”

“I get that, but the opportunity came up and I wasn’t going to miss it. Ribelle wanted him, you know. He’s good. He’s _very_ good.”

“One of my conditions for working for you was that I could choose my staff. The kitchen is _my_ domain, you can run the business however you please but you leave the back to _me_.”

“Mara is going to be out on leave for awhile, you know that. At least give him a chance and see if you like him. He knows it’s temporary, and he knows he needs to impress you.”

Hux glares. “Fine. I’ll give him a week. One week, and if he can’t operate within the parameters I set, he’s out.”

Catherine sighs. “Reasonable enough.”

“Anything else you’ve forgotten to tell me?”

“About last week. I’m sorry.” Her expression softens a bit and she looks sincere. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“I’ve got things under control.”

She nods. “Just let me know.”

* * *

All eyes are on him as he opens the office door to let Catherine leave. “Solo. A word, please.”

The look that passes between Solo and Unamo is wary, but he comes without argument. In the cramped space of the office, he’s rather more physically intimidating, and Hux leans back on the desk and crosses his arms, simultaneously trying to make himself seem bigger and giving them both more space. There’s a long, awkward pause, then he grudgingly holds his hand out to shake. “Armitage Hux.”

Solo hesitates, then shakes it. He’s got a warm, confident handshake, with the telltale scrape of a restaurant chef’s callus. “Nice to meet you.”

“My reaction coming in was…uncalled for. It’s been a long week.”

Solo doesn’t waste any time getting to the point. “So. Can I stay?”

“I’m going to say yes, for now, provided you don’t throw me off. Catherine seems to think highly of you.”

“She should. I turned down an offer from Ribelle to take this position.”

“So she said. -And why, may I ask, did you do that?”

“Seemed like a better career move. Besides, my background in classic western cuisine could use some work, and...”

Hux feels the blood drain from his face. “What were you trained in?”

“Oh, a bit here, a bit there. Most of my training was over the course of travel, I spent about fourteen, fifteen years travelling around the states. Then Vietnam, Japan, Thailand, spent about two years in Seoul altogether but it was always in three-month increments so that was kind of on-and-off…” he ticks the countries off on his fingers.

“Do you have any formal training in traditional western cooking at all?” Hux asks incredulously.

“Spent the last two years at an Italian joint up in Madison. Good people, uppity attitudes. They liked me well enough.”

“So you’re not entirely useless.”

“I’m far from useless, my techniques just need some…refining.” It’s said with the confidence of a man with nothing to lose.

“Fine. You’re on, temporarily until I decide otherwise. Do what I say, don’t piss me off, and we’ll see what happens.”

* * *

Hux lasts a total of ten minutes into prep before he can’t handle the low-grade chaos anymore. He turns around to Solo, who is in the process of moving all his supplies to a different station. “Solo. Radio. Off.”

His new sous chef sighs. “I figured.”

It’s an hour and a half later of relative peace before Solo brings it up. “Do you actually enjoy working in silence?”

“I enjoy being able to hear myself think, something I can’t do over the inane banging you had on earlier.”

“Well, what about…what about something you like to listen to?”

“Are you trying to placate me?”

Solo swung around to look at him. “Yeah? First day on the job with the new boss, you know?”

It feels like a dangerous concession, but Catherine wants this to work. Solo is supposed to be good at his job, he knows what he’s doing. “Fine. If you bring in…something that doesn’t make me want to cut my own ears off, fine.”

“And what does that mean for you?”

“Classical. Acoustic. Something that doesn’t _grate_.” The knife in his hand, which is normally so friendly and familiar, feels dangerous. If this idiot doesn’t shut up…

“I can work with that.”

“Great.”

They make it through the rest of the afternoon relatively without incident. Solo is talented, if a bit untraditional in his methods. For the most part, he doesn’t do anything _wrong_ , per se, just not precisely how Hux wants it done.

“I need three bisque, two baskets of the seven grain and one sourdough, and a rillette.”

“Hey, table six is starting to get a bit jumped up, when’s that coming out?”

“One winter salad, one house, up for eleven.”

He looks around Solo’s shoulder to make sure things are being done as they ought, and he has to admit that he’s skilled. “Solo, have you got that duck for seven?”

“Coming up, chef.”

When he’s focused, Solo doesn’t chat much. Thankfully he’s focused through the entire span of the dinner rush, but as the load eases, he talks more readily. He and Unamo seem to have built up an easy camaraderie already, and they keep a steady stream of banter going. It’s easy enough to tune it out and fall into a rhythm, and it’s almost ten by the time he’s called out.

“Chef?” Unamo taps the workspace with the flat of her knife to get his attention. “You alright?”

He blinks. “Yeah. Sorry, did you need something?”

“Not really, we were just thinking maybe everyone could go to Monroe’s for a drink after this, I’m DD. Now that we’ve got everyone here, maybe a bit of team building…?”

Hux shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I need to get home. Rey’s at the sitter’s, she’s not used to things yet and I really should…”

Unamo is nodding before he even finishes. “Of course, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She pauses. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look a little peaky.”

“Just tired. Not enough coffee in the world to keep me awake these days.”

She gives him an exasperated look but it’s enough to placate her, and the rest of the evening goes well. Not long after closing, Unamo pushes him out the door, telling him to go take care of Rey, and that the rest of the staff can handle the remainder of cleanup.

At home, he walks over to Miz Kanata’s and finds Rey asleep on the couch. He carries her home without waking her up, and it seems a shame to wake her up to brush her teeth, what with how irregular her sleep schedule’s been. He tucks her in bed, still in her play clothes, and barely manages to slog through showering and cleaning up. His head hits the pillow and he’s out before he has the chance to think.

* * *

The next morning, he takes Rey to Miz Kanata’s again and heads to work a bit before noon. Unamo sits at the counter slicing eggplant and sprinkling it with salt. Before settling in, he runs through the prep list for the day, stuck up with a magnet, before starting in on ingredient prep.

“So, how did it go?”

“With you out?” Unamo looks up at him, her knife still moving unerringly even as she looks away from what she’s doing. “We had a few little blips here and there, but most of them were involved with having a new sous chef. I handled things just fine.”

“Anything I need to know about? Was the…?”

“Hey, chill. It was fine. I can boss people around every bit as well as you, thank you very much. I learned from the best. Besides, you’ve got the entire kitchen trained. We handled everything people were able to throw at us.” She gives him a reassuring smile, but it fades when she sees the look on his face. “You should really be resting, or spending time with her, you know. At home.”

“Does it…does it sound stupid that I don’t want to be at my place right now?”

“It doesn’t.” She gives him a sympathetic look. “Is she settling in alright?”

“About as well as she can, all things considered.”

“Have you got her registered for school?”

“Yeah, and she’s got her first session with a new therapist tomorrow morning.”

The day turns quickly, sliding into the lunch hour and into the afternoon with ease. As much as it smarts, Ren does everything correctly, if not quite as-asked. Catherine had been right to pick him up before someone else could.

That doesn’t mean they get along particularly well. They’re both used to taking up as much space as they please, and in the kitchen, that doesn’t leave much room for error. Solo has a station of his own, but it’s right across from Hux’s, and they both realize it’s going to be tricky after he inadvertently elbows Solo solidly in the ribs.

“Ow, shit,” Solo winces. “Watch it.”

“You were on my side.”

“I mean, you could just watch it?”

“Your side is bigger than mine anyway, I’m sure you can contain yourself to it.”

Solo sighs with exasperation. “Fine. But I’m working on big stuff anyway, so really, I need more space.”

“Are you trying to tell me you can’t break something down without using the entire prep space?”

“Excuse you, I’ve got fish, I’ve got beef, I bet you’ll have me breaking the chicken down after lunch, I looked at your menu for the evening.”

Hux grins. “Well, if you’ve got all that space, you might as well.”

Solo groans.

He leaves work that night, mildly annoyed with Solo but satisfied with the evening’s work. He picks Rey up and puts her in bed at home before showering and slumping into bed himself. Again.

He stares up at the ceiling, wondering how many times he’ll repeat this routine before it feels right.

* * *

The next morning, Friday, is Rey’s last day off before she starts school. Part of him knows it’s a shame he can’t spend it with her, but it’s Friday, one of the worst days of the week at Críoch. He needs to be there for prep at least an hour earlier than usual.

To make it up to her, he makes a pan of cinnamon rolls and an omelet, practically oozing with a ham and cheese filling.

“Rey, breakfast!” he yells her out of bed at 8. It’s another five minutes before she comes wandering out, bleary eyed and frowning. “Alright, I’ve got to work late tonight but I made something I think you’ll like.”

“Okay.” She pushes it around the plate with her fork a bit. Twenty minutes later, she’s taken maybe three bites of egg and eaten less than half a roll.

“Do you not like it?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, you need to eat enough to take meds if you need them. The doctor said your max dosage will be lower next week, but they’d prefer to get you off of them sooner rather than later. How’s your arm and chest?”

“It’s okay.”

“Then I’ll let you decide if you want to take them, based on how you’re feeling.”

“I don’t really want to take them.”

He sighs. “Alright. Let me know how bad it hurts, if it gets much worse, let me know..”

She nods. “Can I go back to the guest room now?”

“Of course, but in a couple hours you’ll need to go over to Miz Kanata’s again, I’ve got work. I’ll make sure she’s got a dose for you, just in case you need it. She’ll be taking you to your appointment this afternoon, hopefully that will help a bit. And it’s your room now, not the guest room.”

She pokes at a chunk of egg, pushing it around the plate. “When do I get to move back to Southaven?”

“Rey, I’m sorry, but right now you’re not going to get to. Maybe when you grow up.”

She looks up at him, confusion setting in. “I’m…I don’t get to go back ever?”

“We can go to visit, but for now, I work here, so we have to stay here.”

“But why can’t you work there?”

“Well, I don’t have a job there.”

“Why can’t _I_ go back?”

“Honey, you’d be alone there. You can’t live alone.”

“I want to go home.” Her face starts to crumple but she keeps it together, just barely. She bites down on whatever she’s about to say and gets up. She doesn’t say anything, just goes to her room and closes the door.

* * *

“Rey, I need to get going. Come on.”

“No.”

“Rey. Now.”

“No!”

He’s at a loss. In the end, he goes over to Miz Kanata’s place and knocks on the door, feeling his face burning with embarrassment.

She answers the door with a look of amusement. “Where’s Rey?”

“We…uh. We got in a fight, and she won’t come out of her room.”

“Mmm. Well done.”

“This isn’t entirely my fault, I told her she couldn’t move back home and she got upset.”

“Not entirely your fault, but it probably could have been handled better.”

“Yeah, I know. Point is, I can’t get her over here, can you just…check up on her every once in awhile? I’ve got the spare key, I know it’s not the best situation but I…really need to get to work. And clearly I’m not cut out for this parenting thing.”

She takes it with a sigh. “You’re lucky I like her. I’ll see what I can do. Next time you bring food, throw in dessert and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll make you an entire cake if that’s what it takes.”

“No, no. If you do that, I’ll have to freeze most of it, and it’s not as good that way. Whatever your special is tonight, how about that?”

“You want crème brulee or double german chocolate cake?”

“Ohh, the chocolate. Chocolate is the way to a girl’s heart, you know. You should probably bring some for Rey too.”

* * *

The weekend at Críoch is hell. Between work and knowing Rey is at home, furious with him, he feels on-edge constantly, and it comes out. “Alright, let’s go people. Dinner rush is starting, and it’s not going to let up til late, you know that.”

“Chef, we need another lamb ready asap, we’re short one for eleven..”

“One lamb and one sole for eight.”

He resists the urge to rip into the fish he’s prepping, shifting into high gear instead. “Solo, I’m putting you on the lamb. Can you handle that?”

“Trying to prep a winter salad, Chef.”

“Thannison, you’re covering Solo, you’ve got the salad now. You’re probably going to have several more coming in, last time it was on special we sold out.”

“Yes Chef.”

“Solo. Lamb. Now.”

“Already on it, Chef,” he says with a grin.

Hux takes a deep breath. This is easy, compared to raising a kid. He knows how the kitchen ought to work, it’s easy to redirect everyone he has to where they need to be. So long as they’re competent, he can put his staff where he needs them.

He pauses, watching as people go where directed and for a moment, everything moves flawlessly. It’s smooth, everyone is working to on something, and plates are being assembled at an entirely reasonable rate. For the size of the place, it’s perfect. It’s a single perfect moment before he’s dragged back in.

“Chef? Can you check my quail? It doesn’t seem quite right.”

“Did you leave it on too long again?”

By the time he’s fixed that, the sole is up. “Solo, how quick can you be on the lamb?”

“Slicing and plating, give me a minute and it’ll be up.”

“Perfect.”

* * *

“I need that,” he snaps as Solo swipes the grater from his station.

“I’ll give it right back, I swear, I’m trying to get this plated and...there, see? That wasn’t that bad.”

He quells the urge to smack his sous chef.

* * *

He feels like he’s going to fall over when he finally gets home. His feet hurt, his head aches, and he feels like someone is driving a paring knife into the crook of his neck. Rey is fast asleep on Miz Kanata’s leather couch, and he puts the carry-out box on the counter. “If you get me a plate, I’ll actually make it look nice.”

She takes a look at the piece of cake, haphazardly shoveled into the box. The small container of strawberry reduction is shoved in alongside. As someone who takes pride in plating his dishes nicely, it kills Hux a bit. “There’s no need to dirty a plate. It’ll taste just as good like this.”

“But…”

“Son, you look like shit. Take Rey home, go to sleep. Goodness knows you need it.”

* * *

Saturday he wakes up to the sound of the TV. He finds Rey in the living room, bundled in a blanket and watching cartoons. Her slung arm and the upper half of her face are the only things that stick out of the blanket.

“How about some breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

His heart is heavy in his chest, but he’s not sure what to do. A repeat performance of yesterday is likely to only get her to eat a couple bites, and although a couple bites is better than nothing, it’s still not enough. She’s a growing kid, she needs food, and he doesn’t know how to break through to her.

Fuck it. He’s winging it.

“You know, that’s a shame, cause I brought some cake home last night. Double chocolate with strawberry reduction. But if you don’t want it, I guess I’m going to have to eat it by myself.”

Her eyes flick from the TV, over to him. Silence.

Then, “What’s a reduction?”

“Hm, it’s like a strawberry sauce.” He gets the box out of the fridge and opens it. It looks just as rough in the box as Miz Kanata’s had the night before. He’s opened the cabinet and is reaching for a plate to fix it up when he remembers what she’d said. _It’ll taste just as good like this._

Fine. Fine. He’s not in a mood to give a fuck this morning, so he bangs the cabinet closed and grabs a fork. Cold chocolate cake for breakfast. He must be out of his damn mind.

As he sits down on the couch next to Rey, her eyes flick to the open container. She stares for a solid minute and he pretends not to notice as he takes a bite and tries to figure out what she’s watching. He doesn’t recognize the show, but it seems to be about a bunch of teenagers having adventures in space or something.

Eventually he holds out a forkful. “Want some?”

She nods and flips the blanket off her head. The first bite even gets a smile out of her before her attention goes back to the cartoon. She gets through about half of it before she’s done. It’s probably terrible to give her so much sugar first thing in the morning, but it’s also more than he’s been able to get her to eat the last couple days.

It’s 7am on a Saturday morning, he’s his niece’s legal guardian, and he’s let the little gremlin child eat chocolate cake for breakfast. Lucy would kill him.

He has no idea how his life turned into this, but to hell with it. He’s going to get through today, and figure out what to do about it tomorrow.

* * *

“Uncle Tidge.”

He blinks awake to find Rey looking at him skeptically from where she stands next to the couch where he’d crashed after a stupidly busy evening. They’d had a private party that ran late, and he’d barely made it home without falling asleep at the wheel. “I…oh. Morning.”

“It’s Monday. You have to take me to school.”

“It starts at 8:15.”

“It’s 7:45.”

It’s like a triple shot of espresso. He flings himself out of bed with a hissed, “Shi-! Shoot. I meant shoot. Alright, what do we need to get together for you? Are you dressed? Did you wash your face and brush your teeth?” She nods and he rummages in his closet to find a shirt that’s somewhat clean. A button up passes the sniff test and he flings it on the bed, searching for pants.

“I just need you to take me to school.”

“Oh no, I’m going to go in and drop you off, make sure everything is settled for your first day. Let me get changed really quick.” He can’t find his more respectable black jeans so he settles for a sort of baggy older pair. They look awful, but they’ll have to do.

Rey is sitting on the couch, waiting quietly. She’s dressed herself in jeans, last fall’s soccer team t-shirt, and a puff vest, and though they don’t exactly go together, she looks okay-ish enough to let her go as-is. She’s got her backpack and it occurs to him that she might not have all the supplies she needs. “You have the basics? Pencils and notebooks? And can you bring a list of anything else you need home for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Breakfast, he can do. He’s pulling a pitcher of cold-brew out of the fridge and slicing up a bagel to put in the toaster oven and pouring two cups of coffee and getting a plate down before he even asks her, “Alright, how about breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re going to need to eat to do meds.”

She nods and picks at the bagel that he puts in front of her, even with the apple butter spread to make it less dry. He runs about the place getting things together for another ten minutes and comes back to find she’s barely touched it.

“Alright, we can take the bagel with. Drink your coffee, Rey, and we’ll go.”

She stares at him for a second before saying, “But mum said no coffee…?”

He stops and it’s a ‘duh’ moment. Right. Kids don’t do coffee. He knows this, he just has to think his way through it.“…what do you normally drink with breakfast?”

“Orange juice?”

“None of that processed shit. I’ll pick some up at the store today. What else in the meantime?”

She looks at him blankly. “Milk?”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll put some in a travel mug for you. We’re going to take this in the car. I don’t want you to be late.”

* * *

At the school, parks the car in a tiny side lot and hands her a lunch box. “Alright, I’m going to come in with you, we’ll get everything situated. I’ll take your meds to the nurse, if your arm is hurting you too badly, you’ll ask your teacher to go see the nurse, alright?”

She nods and follows him in. He’s stopped at the front door by an aide, and when he gives his name and Rey’s name, they’re directed to the office.

“Mr. Hux?” The woman behind the front desk is middle-aged and seems fairly amiable. “Hello, I’m Ms. Kisley. And you must be Rey.” She looks over her desk at her, taking her in. “I’ll have an aide take you to your classroom. You’ve been assigned to Mrs. Fernandez’s class, she’s very nice, I’m sure you’ll like her.” Ms. Kisley looks up at him. “We can handle things from here.”

Hux hesitates. “Is there a school nurse I could speak to or something? She’s got meds for her arm, if she’s in too much pain, she’ll need to take a dose. And I’ve got a note exempting her from gym for now.”

“Ah, here. Wait til I get her situated and then I’ll have you fill out the forms.”

* * *

After dropping her off, he goes to work to do prep and get ahead. He works through the lunch shift, trying to make sure everything is ready to go for the evening. Once he’s taken care of everything he can, he leaves to go pick Rey up.

She doesn’t seem to have much to say in the car. “So, how was your day?”

“Fine.”

“You make any new friends?”

“Not really.”

“Meet anyone new?”

“Yeah. A lot of people.”

He draws a blank. “How about learning...things? Did you learn anything new?”

“I’ve already learned all the stuff we did today.”

“Oh. Well, how was your teacher?”

“She was nice.”

That’s about the extent of what he can get out of her. In the end, he takes her to Miz Kanata’s and leaves dinner for them before heading back to work.

* * *

A week goes by this way. Getting Rey to school in the morning becomes a part of the schedule, as does picking her up. Sometimes she goes to a doctor’s appointment or to therapy, but then she goes to Miz Kanata’s and he picks her up to go home and sleep at night. It all becomes routine, which is good, because routine is about the only thing keeping him on his feet..

It’s unsettling how numb he still feels. Everything has gone back to normal, and he gets through the day without the constant feeling that he’s going to snap, that he’s breaking down even as he goes through it all. Returning to a routine is the only thing that gets him through.

A rather less pleasant addition to his routine is the perpetual irritation of Solo’s mistakes, small though they are. “Solo, this is supposed to be a French stock. What did you do?”

His sous chef takes one look at the contents of the pot and grimaces. “Ah. Shit.”

“You tell me what’s wrong.”

“I suspect you can’t read a penny on the bottom of that, as they say.”

“And why?”

Solo takes a breath, annoyed. “I got caught up with the duck and didn’t clarify it.”

“If you need to, ask someone else to get it for you.”

For a moment, something angry flashes in his eyes. Whatever it is, he bites down on it and grits his teeth. “Yes chef.”

Half an hour later, it’s something else. “Where’s my quail for eleven?”

He’s unsurprised to find Solo has gotten caught up plating the lamb. He turns to Unamo, who nods and gets to work.

* * *

They manage two weeks like this. It’s functional but far from ideal, and although Unamo tells him he’s being too harsh and putting all the blame on the new sous chef, it’s only when Solo grows a spine and stands up to him that things finally turn around.

Maybe it’s his mood going into work that pushes him to the edge. With Rey finally being worked off of her painkillers, she’s cranky and hard to handle. The morning is one problem after another, and he gets her to school just late enough that he has to go to the office and sign her in. The secretary’s expression is faintly disguised distaste when he explains that her tardiness is his fault, and that she shouldn’t be in trouble for his issues.

“I’m sure you’ll have her here on time tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he says through clamped teeth.

The incident puts a bad taste in his mouth all day, and it boils over into his work. Unamo overcooks the quail again, just slightly too dry, and it’s all he can do not to yell at her. He lets her off the hook, telling himself she’s doing her damndest even though it’s written across her face as the baby kicks. He tells her it’s fine and tries to encourage her. It comes across wooden, and she gives him a look like the Hux she knows has been replaced by an alien.

Doesn’t matter. He turns back to his work. 

It’s a single plate that sets him off half an hour later. Lamb. Very much not plated to his satisfaction. Not at all. It looks ridiculous. There’s hardly any color in it, the lamb is centered but everything around it looks off-balance, and the butternut squash that is supposed to be there is missing, replaced by the eggplant that is serving as a side for the hanger steak.

He spins on the offender, prepared to eviscerate him verbally, as the knife close at hand will probably land him in jail. “Where’s the squash, Solo?”

“The order requested it be served without it.”

“I won’t have it going out like this. I don’t care what they requested, this looks out of balance and bland and there’s hardly any color to it.”

“Oh, great, fine. What would you recommend I do?” Solo’s voice drips with sarcasm, and it grates on Hux’s already fraying nerves.

“Figure out another side.”

“I don’t have time to figure something else out entirely on the fly, we’ve got too much else to handle right now and the rest of that table is almost ready to go out.”

“If you’re alright with a plate going out like this, you’re both blind and incompetent.”

There’s a beat of silence before he reacts and then it’s like a dam opening. “What the hell? Why do you hate me so much?” Solo snaps.

“I don’t hate you, this isn’t personal. I’m just…”

“Our styles are different but that doesn’t mean I’m fucking incompetent, alright? You tell me what you want, I’ll make it, but you don’t tell me how you want things or you give me contradicting instructions and then when I try to accommodate a special order you…”

“This is _my_ kitchen, and I’ve worked extremely hard to make it so. If you want to make changes to my plans, you _ask_ me!”

“Oh, pardon me, _may I plate the lamb to your exact requirements that you haven’t bothered to explain to me, while preparing it without the side as the customer asked since they have an allergy?_ ” Solo snarls in his face.

Ah. An allergy. At least that explains the need to serve the dish without the squash. For a moment he almost regrets being so harsh on Solo, but he covers it up, snapping, “It’s too late for that now, idiot.”

Solo stares at him for a moment, his face twisting from anger to incredulity. Then he snorts. ”You know what, I didn’t have to take the job here, I had three other offers. But it seemed like it’d be an honor to work with you, and that there were things I could learn because my classical cooking isn’t perfect, but I’d really rather not dread coming into work every single day. Because, in a kitchen, things inevitably get fucked up, and you either recover or start over. Either way, I don’t feel like taking the blame every single time.”

Everyone’s eyes are on them.

“Chef…” Unamo says quietly. “I’m not going to be here much longer. You need him.”

He wants to punch a wall and it feels like everything is spinning out of control. It’s escalated much more than he originally intended, and the pressure in his chest is reaching a point where it feels like it’s going to break his ribs. “Fine. Solo. A word in private.”

He marches to the office, opens the door, waits for Solo to follow him, and clicks it closed behind. It’s a supreme demonstration of willpower, because right now he wants nothing more than to strangle the bastard with his bare hands.

It takes a bit of shuffling to get arranged in the tiny room. When they are, the silence stretches longer than it ought to as they stare each other down. Solo’s got a couple inches on him, and it grates on him to have to look up at someone that isn’t Catherine. It doesn’t matter, he’s not about to back down. “If you want to argue with me, talk to me, but do it in private. I run a tight ship, and I don’t need my supposed right hand man throwing everyone off kilter and _undermining my control_. If you have a problem, you talk to me. _In private_.” He gets it out between gritted teeth.

“That’s your problem, you’re trying to control every little thing. I don’t want to argue with you, but I can’t function like…”

“Then what the hell do you think you’re doing? Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re arguing with me.”

“I want to…come to a resolution. Of some sort. As much as I want to fight about it, that’s not the way to go about this.” Solo seems uncomfortable, and shifts awkwardly in the small space. “Listen, I get it, you’re stressed. Moreso than usual. I’m trying to help, honestly.”

“You could help by doing what I damn tell you.”

“What you want, what you tell me, and what you actually need are three very different things.” He ticks the list off on his fingers. “You’re going to need to be more specific. I’m still trying to figure out all of your rules.”

“What’s wrong with rules? I want things done correctly, this is my kitchen. You do it my way or I do it myself.”

“Nothing is _wrong_ with them, I just don’t know them yet! And as for doing it all yourself, _you don’t have to_. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he says with exasperation. “I’m here to help. Or I’m trying to, at least. You’re not making it easy.”

“Oh, now this is my fault? I’m not…”

Solo holds his hands up defensively. “Woah, slow down, let’s try this again. That’s not how I meant it. I get it, I’m the cog in the machine that isn’t working right. Tell me what it is you need done, with specifics, and don’t be a dick about it if I make some sort of small accommodation at a customer’s request. It’ll get done. Just. This, right now, the way we work around each other doesn’t work. I’ll do what you want, but I need you to trust me.”

Hux feels the familiar pressure in his chest building up again, but he crushes it, swallows it down and takes a calming breath. “If you mess this up…”

“Do you want me to stay or not?” The question is blunt. “If not, you can fire me or I can walk out right now. You tell me what you want to happen.”

The prospect of managing a kitchen without Unamo is daunting. The thought of trying to swing it without another experienced chef is worse. Solo has his ways of doing things and Hux may not like them, but he’s better than nothing. “I…yes. Alright, yes. Fine.”

“Fine what?”

Hux lets out a breath in defeat. “I want you to stay.”

Solo laces his fingers together, flips his grip inside out, and cracks them loudly. “Excellent. Let’s try this again, then. This incident, the squash, that was a bit of an exception, but you still get pissed off at me on the regular. So. What, exactly, do you want to see from me?”

* * *

After their conversation, things mellow out. Expectations have been set and clarified, and Solo works quite well within those bounds. The day ends with relative ease, in comparison to how it had started. Solo is still a human-sized hurricane to the relative calm of Hux’s kitchen, but there are only a couple moments of uncertainty through the evening.

He goes home that night with the faint hope that things might finally settle down again.

It’s the first night he wakes up to the sound of screams.

It isn’t the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, comments, and concerns always welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late. My brain was overloaded yesterday and I forgot.

Things in his kitchen improve. Hux learns to give specific instructions and to give some leeway, and Solo learns to ask for permission before changing any of the signature dishes. It’s not perfect, but it works.

Things at home with, however, Rey start to spiral downward. He can barely get her to eat more than a couple bites at each meal, and though he always sends her to school with a full lunchbox, he suspects she throws much of it away. Her appointments with the therapist seem to be going alright, but even Dr. Schroeder can see she’s looking peaky, and she tells him as much. No matter how he tries to coax her or set rules, her meals mostly go uneaten. He even tries getting her to eat in front of the TV, hoping maybe cartoons will distract her enough that she’ll eat without thinking. It doesn’t help

On top of that, once she’s off the painkillers, their apparent sedative effect is gone, and she stops sleeping through the night. It quickly becomes the norm for her to wake up several times a night, either yelling or crying. The few times she wakes up quietly, he finds her curled up under the table in the morning. Her therapist suggests medicating her, at least so she can sleep, but Rey argues that she doesn’t want to take anything. In the end, after a lot of discussion, they go the route of Trauma-Focused Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy. So far, it hasn’t helped.

To be honest, he’s at a loss. He’s not really sure how to handle things, so instead, he throws himself into the one thing he knows he can do: cook. He tightens up the menu, cutting out the things that don’t sell well, and makes room for more specials on the menu, with the hopes that it will help them determine what will sell best and should be added to the regular selection.

Unamo helps, working on prep as he whips up a couple different versions of the braised chicken he wants to try out. Once the rest of the staff is in, they can try it and he can get preliminary feedback.

Not that he’ll listen to it, if it’s ridiculous. But he values the opinions of the other people who can actually cook, Unamo first and foremost. Solo, it remains to be seen, but he seems to have good taste. Mostly.

He’s working on plating the second of three dishes, bemoaning his child-rearing difficulties to Unamo, when Solo shows up for work. “What’s cookin’ Chef? You look pissed.”

Ah, yes. Lovely. “A braised chicken dish, unless you mean in the figurative sense, in which case the answer is nothing you can help with, Solo, unless you’re good with kids.”

“Well, I’m not awful with kids.” He washes his hands, checks the prep list, goes to get the ingredients he needs, and spreads things out around his station in relative silence. When he’s finished, he speaks up again. “I might not be able to help, but if talking about it might, you know, at least get it off your chest…”

“I’m terrible with kids.” Hux admits. “I mean, I’m fine in the short term, but I have no idea what to do with my niece.”

“School trouble?”

“Everything trouble. Both of her parents are dead, can you blame her? Or me?” He sweeps the pile of scallions into a tub and starts on more. The slick sound of the knife is comforting, in a way. “And there’s nobody else, she doesn’t have any other family. It’s not like I’m going to surrender her to the system, I’d never do that. But hell if I don’t feel like I’m screwing everything up.”

Unamo sighs. “I’m sure you’re not screwing _everything_ up.”

“Thank you so very much for your vote of faith,” he snaps back.

The silence that follows is awkward, and continues until Solo clears his throat and breaks it. “Well. What’s the most immediate difficulty?”

“She barely sleeps, and I can barely get her to eat. I’ve done everything, I’ve tried being nice and I’ve tried being strict and telling her she can’t leave the table til she eats, she just sits there all night. She’ll fall asleep in the chair at the table if she doesn’t feel like eating. I can’t force her.”

“I mean, what are you serving? The stuff we make here isn’t exactly the kid-friendliest food.”

He glares at Solo, but there’s no malice behind his words and Hux doesn’t have the energy to hold it against him. “I haven’t tried to get her to eat escargot, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Right, yeah, I mean. I figured, but you never know.”

“Give me half an ounce of credit, I’m not completely stupid.” He finishes plating the third dish and goes to dig out forks and knives. “Alright, I want opinions. Actual opinions, none of the bullshit sucking up to me.”

Unamo takes a bite of the first, thinks it over, takes a sip of water, tries the second, then repeats the process with the third. She hasn’t even finished chewing and she points at the third one. “Definitely that one.” 

Everyone that tries them agrees, but Solo chews it slowly, seemingly thinking it over. “Something wrong?”

“I’d definitely agree, this one is better, but it’s still missing something. You need something to balance out the the balsamic.”

He’s right, and Hux knows he’s right, but he’s at a loss as to what it’s missing. “Suggestions?”

Solo frowns. “Let me think a bit. I know there’s something but I can’t put my thumb on it right now.”

They’re halfway through the dinner shift when Solo stops dead and says “Oh.” 

He spins on Hux, who sees it coming and says,“What’ve you got?”

“Something sweet. Try peach or something. More as a garnish than anything else.”

Hux is already planning the strawberry reduction to go with the chocolate cake that went over well the previous week. That’ll do.

“Excellent. Now, how about table six?”

“Table six, up in two minutes chef.” Solo nods and gets back to it. 

* * *

Catherine drops in on them midway through the evening. “Chef, at some point, I’d like to go over the menu for next week. If I can get questions answered ahead of time, it’ll make my life easier.

“Yeah, we can do that. What time will you be in tomorrow?”

“I should be in by 10:30.”

“Can we do it then?”

“Sounds good.”

He’s on the clock to get that special down but he can do this. He _knows_ he can do this. And Solo’s handed him the last piece to the puzzle.

* * *

He preps the dish before hours the next day, tired from another sleepless night with Rey’s nightmares. He’s finishing up a fresh batch of the reduction as Solo walks in for work, headphones in and distracted. At 10:25 he plates, even as Solo goes through the prep list stuck up with a magnet.

“Solo.”

No response as he starts slicing mushrooms for the ribeye gravy.

“Solo!”

Still nothing.

He takes a deep breath and approaches Solo’s station and plucks one of his earbuds out by the cord. “Solo.”

He startles and flicks half a mushroom off the surface entirely. “Oh shit, sorry. Yes Chef?”

“Try this.”

Solo takes the proffered utensil and takes a bite. He concentrates for a moment, then nods. “That’s it, that’s right. What was it?”

“Strawberry reduction. Good call.”

Solo grins. It’s a good look on him.

* * *

Catherine’s response is similarly positive and adding the braised chicken as a special goes over flawlessly. Over the next two weeks Hux gives Solo a bit more leniency in his work. Given the opportunity to add his own flair, Solo’s skill shines. It’s clear why Catherine brought him on board, and Hux can’t help but grudgingly admire the man. 

As he learns that he can, for the most part, trust Solo, their dynamic shifts. Unamo slowly hands more and more control over to him. It’s a beautifully fluid transition. With a mix of praise and constructive feedback, he practically shines. The difference in both his attitude and his work is astonishing, and he very quickly becomes Hux’s right hand man. Not that anyone could ever truly replace Unamo, but she’s more limited in what she can do. As each day passes, she’s forced to spend more time sitting and doing less intense tasks

“Don’t you dare have that baby in my kitchen. I’m sure it’ll bring hell down from the health department,” Catherine half-jokes.

“My kitchen, thank you,” Hux says smugly.

“You get what I mean.”

* * *

By the next weekend, Hux is so worn down by work and Rey’s lack of sleep he lets Solo have his say in the dessert specials, as well as giving him control over the rub on the steak. Overall, Solo’s instincts are irritatingly good. The customer feedback is very good, although there are plenty of people who don’t notice the change. 

There is one person that notices, though, and of course it would be their most critical patron. 

It starts when the door swings open, and Hux turns around to find that Catherine looks…concerned. “Hux. Mr. Snoke is here, he wants to say hello and meet the new sous chef. I’m going to need both you and Solo.”

“Unamo, can you keep an eye on…”

“Hey, I’ve got this, things are fine here. Go suck up to Snoke, see if there’s anything he wants.”

Hux takes a moment to straighten his uniform and check for any stray flecks of food, then puts on his most accommodating smile and turns to Solo. “Shall we?”

Robert Snoke sits at a table in the corner, rather unassuming to anyone who doesn’t know better. To the staff of Críoch, he’s been a godsend. He’s been not only one of their best investors, but consistent. He’s brought business partners for lunch for years, and comes on his own at least twice a month. His orders are always fairly straightforward and his tips are excellent, and he’s only ever sent a dish back once.

“Mr. Snoke. Always a pleasure.” Hux holds out his hand to shake. The older man takes it, papery skin cool to the touch. He smiles, his grin somewhat predatory to anyone unfamiliar with his mannerisms. To Hux, it’s a compliment.

“The meal was very...different this time. I just wanted to say thank you for yet another,” he hesitates, “unique dining experience. Different, certainly, but good, I think. A completely new rub, if I’m not mistaken?”

The praise feels hollow, like he’s fishing for information, but Hux takes it in stride. “Allow me to introduce our new sous chef. This is Ben Solo. His spice choices are…rather untraditional, but inspired.”

Solo takes Snoke’s hand and nods. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure.” The investor gives him a thin smile before turning back to Hux. “Any upcoming specials I should be paying particular attention to?”

He starts in on their upcoming menus until Snoke’s attention flickers past him. Hux pauses, listening and coming up to speed with the conversation happening behind him.

“I could bring you another entrée, but I’m sorry sir, this is…”

“Excuse me? Sir? Excuse me? Are you the chef?”

Hux turns to find himself being summoned by a middle-aged man in frustrated conversation with Catherine. He can’t keep from being a bit dry. “Well sir, I don’t wear this uniform for nothing.”

“I requested my steak be made blue rare. _This_ cremated monstrosity is not what I ordered, and my waitress seems to think my request cannot be accommodated.”

The word ‘cremated’ knocks him off-balance for a half-second before he recovers. One look at the meat in question reveals it’s still bleeding on the plate, and is precisely as-ordered. “Sir, while I understand you requested extra rare, we do, in fact, have to cook it. Although we do have the legally required notice on the menu, for sanitary purposes, we really need to cook any exposed surfaces to ensure…”

“I ordered a blue steak. I expect a blue steak.”

For a moment, Hux is taken aback. “Sir, this is the bluest steak we can prepare you. We don’t serve steak tartare here for a reas…”

“I expect my steak so blue you’ve basically ripped it out of the cow and thrown a match at it. Otherwise, I won’t be tipping _this_ cow.” He points to Catherine, who stands up to her full height indignantly.

The sheer rudeness of the man takes Hux by surprise, and his mind goes blank. What do you even say to a customer like this?

Solo steps in. “I’m the one that prepared it, so you really ought to be speaking with me.”

“You did a piss-poor job of preparing it, then.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to harass Catherine. I’m the one that made it.”

“Then let me explain to you what a blue steak is...”

Solo thumps his palms down on the table, rattling the glasses and silverware. “Listen buddy, I know what a blue steak is, but if I’d known you were going to be such an ass, I would’ve dyed it blue by searing it with rat poison before sending it out. But sure, I’ll make you another.” Solo grabs the fork out of his hand and spears the entire steak with it so hard the plate cracks audibly. He stands back up to his full height and turns to Catherine. “You might as well take the plate out of my paycheck.”

The man gapes at him for a moment, then sweeps to his feet with all the indignation he can manage in the face of a giant like Solo, who has an easy eight inches and at least fifty pounds on him. In fact, even though he’s surrounded by the abnormally tall staff of Críoch, he draws himself up, throws his napkin on the table and gets as in-his-face as he can. “I’ll get you fired.”

“You can try. Go on. Go for it, buddy.” Solo strolls back to the kitchen, unhurried, carrying the slab of meat on the fork. There’s awkward silence for a moment before a woman at a nearby table whistles and gives Hux and Catherine a thumbs up. “Good, I like him.”

The man sits back down indignantly and turns to Catherine. “I _demand_ to speak to the manager!”

With a smile like a shark, she leans forward to rest her palms flat on the table. “You are.”

Hux leaves things to her, says his thank-you’s to Snoke, and makes his way back to the kitchen.

* * *

“If you insist on getting rid of my customers, I’ll get rid of you, I swear.” Back in the kitchen, Hux stares Solo down with as much steel as he can manage. “Do _not_ test me again.”

“He was being a dick to Cath.”

“First, Catherine can handle herself, and second, if I were you, I wouldn’t let her hear you shorten her name, or she’ll handle you right out of here.” He sighs and pinches the bone of his nose, right between his eyes, as if it will relieve some of the pressure that’s building there and threatening to turn into a headache. “Just…let’s get through the rest of the night without another incident.”

* * *

The next night, Rey is quieter than usual. Hux thanks his lucky stars she slept through the night, but when he goes to get her up for school, she’s not in her bed. He finds her, she’s curled up in her blanket under the table. She’s asleep, but she’s got a book and a flashlight, so she’s probably been up most of the night reading.

A careful hand on her shoulder is enough to wake her. “Come on, time to get up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you’ve got to go to school.” She doesn’t make a move to get up, and he looks at her wryly. “Not much room for you under there, is there?”

“Your table is too small.” She crawls out from where she was curled up and frowns. “It sucks.”

“Maybe you’ve just grown too tall. You’re still growing, you know.”

She eats two bites of her breakfast and drinks about half a glass of orange juice. It’s frustrating, but he can’t think of a way around it. He wraps the rest of the english muffin up and sends it to school with her.

The feeling of failure that inspires follows him through the entire day. It must show in his face, and later at work he bitches about still not being able to get her to eat to Unamo. Solo looks him up and down from the other side of the kitchen, then shakes his head. “I’m going to say something you don’t like.”

“If you already know I’m not going to like it, it’s probably better not to say it.” He takes a sip from the thermos of coffee he’s brought. He needs it to get through the night.

He continues anyway. “How are you a chef, and as good as you are? You’re rail thin. Nobody stays that ungodly skinny when they cook like you do. And everyone knows food tastes better when you’re hungry, you’ve got to have an inflated sense of how good it is, right?”

“I have high standards for food. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re so skinny, if you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you’d look like a zipper.”

Hux’s grip on his thermos clenches tighter. “If I don’t feel like eating it, I don’t. It’s not all that hard to have a little self-control, Solo.”

“But you’ve been complaining about not being able to get Rey to eat.”

“She’s a growing child!”

“Right, which means she’s probably picking up her food habits from you.”

Hux takes a deep breath to argue but finds he can’t. There’s really nothing to argue with Solo about in this case. He’s probably right. “Fine. What do _you_ think I should be doing?”

“Well, I think you should be living on something besides coffee, spit, and stubbornness, but I’m clearly not the boss of you.”

“Got any _actual_ suggestions?”

“I mean, did you think about what I said last week? What about kid food?”

“Like what?”

“You know, basic stuff. Good ol’ American style comfort food. Macaroni and cheese? Grilled cheese and tomato soup?” Solo pauses. “Chicken nuggets?”

Hux stares at him, nonplussed. “I’m not feeding her chicken nuggets. No processed shit.”

“Chicken tenders?” Solo offers. “All I’m saying is, maybe the sort of stuff you’re used to making is just too much for her right now. Go with whatever she’s familiar with.”

* * *

“I made macaroni and cheese.” It’s his day off, and if there’s any day of the week he’s got time to really dedicate to trying to get her out of her funk, it’s Tuesday. He finishes plating the meal and sets things out on the table as Rey lays under the coffee table, reading a book. She’s wedged herself down there, and makes no move to wriggle out.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Honey, I know you’re not taking meds anymore, but you still need to eat.”

Rey finally frees herself, slouches to the table, and sits down. She takes a bite of macaroni and a bite of peas. Then she pushes the food around her plate to make it look like she’s eaten.

“You’re a growing kid, you need to be sure you’re getting all the nutrients you need.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

They sit there for a couple minutes in silence as she picks at her food. Eventually, he tries to initiate some sort of small talk. “How was school today?”

“Boring.”

“You learn anything new?”

“Not really.”

“How about after school activities? Have you decided on anything you want to do yet? We can get you signed up for sports, or girl scouts, or…”

“No.”

“How about…”

“You know, you don’t have to pretend you care. I get it.”

They sit in silence for several awkward minutes. He’s not sure how to respond. The tension in his chest multiplies, leaving him feeling like he can’t breathe.

“May I be excused?”

“Eat three more bites, and then you may.” The bites she takes are small and she leaves her plate by the sink. He puts the rest of it in a tupperware and washes dishes in silence.

* * *

He wakes up at 1:14 to the sound of high-pitched crying. By now, he’s got a routine down. Out of bed, grab the extra blanket, go to Rey’s room and try to wake her up.

She fights him as he tries to coax her into consciousness. It’s a struggle to bring her around through the awful gasps that are full of tears and mucus caught in her throat. When she does wake, she falls still for a bit, getting her bearings. It’s almost always like this in the moments before she realizes that her nightmares are real, and when the realization hits her, the floodgates open up again.

He wraps the blanket around her as she cries, rocking and soothing her as best he can, looking down at his watch each time he shifts enough to light it up. She doesn’t settle for a long time, and when she does, she still clings to him.

It takes awhile to extricate himself from her grip, but when he does, he replaces the empty space in her arms with a pillow she can cling to.

He’s not even asleep yet when the crying starts back up and he’s out of bed again. His watch reads 3:38.

It’s going to be another very long day.

* * *

In the morning, he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. It’s always like this when they’re up through most of the night. As she’s putting her things together for school, he packs her lunch. Beef Bourguignon, easy comfort food. Everything is fine until they’re halfway out the door. “Where’s my vest?”

“You don’t need your vest, you’ve got your jacket.”

“No, I need my vest, where is it?” She yanks her backpack out of his hand and rips it open, pulling everything out and throwing it in the middle of the hallway.

“Rey, you don’t need your vest, we need to get going.”

“Where is it!” She’s frantic, climbing back up to yank on the locked door. “Open the door back up!”

“Rey, you don’t need your vest, we’re going to be late to school.”

“I have to have my vest! I can’t forget it!” Her voice shoots up frantically and a door down the hall opens. Hux doesn’t want to turn around and see which of his neighbors hates him.

“I will _not_ have you late to school.”

“I can’t forget my vest!” She screams at the top of her lungs as he tries to pull her away from the door. Another door down the hall opens, 

“Shhh, shhh, okay, okay, we’ll go back to look for it. Just...settle down, alright?” She’s crying as he unlocks the door, but she bolts to her room to look for it.

He’s got a sneaking suspicion where it is, and he checks the dirty laundry hamper by the washing machine. It comes out wrinkled and a bit grubby. “Rey, I found it!” 

She comes running. “Where was it?”

“In the dirty clothes. But you can’t wear it to school today. It’s safe, but it’ll be in the dirty clothes basket til I can wash it tonight.”

Rey looks at him. “So what?”

“I can’t have you wear something dirty to school,” he sputters. “What would your teacher think of me?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She grabs at the vest, but he lifts it up over her head, too high for her to reach. She looks at him for a long moment, her face pinched and angry, and then she starts sobbing again.

“Rey, please don’t...listen, it’s right here, nothing’s going to happen, it’s okay just...please stop crying…” He’s out of his depth, a miserable failure yet again. 

In the end, he caves. In the car, he tries to address the elephant in the room. “Why are you so worried about forgetting your vest?”

Rey is silent for a minute, and then she gives a snotty sniffle and says, “I just can’t.”

“What would happen if you did?”

“You might die.”

He very nearly slams on the brakes in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I forgot my vest and we went back for it.” She doesn’t have to say it, but she explains anyway. “If we hadn’t gone back, we wouldn’t have hit the truck.”

“Oh.”

The rest of the drive is made in silence. At school, she grabs her backpack and hops out. He doesn’t notice til later, when he gets to work, that she forgot her lunchbox.

He wonders if he ought to call the school and drop it off, but it’s nearly 1 o’clock. Lunch period has already passed, and she’s got money in her lunch account, she should have gotten a school lunch. He lets it go. Maybe they’ll be able to talk her into eating that.

* * *

His phone vibrates in his pocket around 2:30 and he grits his teeth, fighting off the reflexive dread of answering it. He gives a couple orders to make sure things stay under control before ducking out of the kitchen. The caller ID says it’s Miz Kanata. “Hello?”

“Hux? I’m sorry, something’s come up, I can’t take Rey this afternoon.” Her voice is tight, and something is clearly wrong.

“No, that’s okay, are you alright?”

“My son is in the hospital, I need to get there as soon as I can.”

“I’m so sorry, can you get there alright? Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’m fine,” her voice cracks, “thank you, but I’ll be fine. I just need you to get Rey.”

“I’ve got it under control, go see your son.”

“Thanks.” The phone clicks off and he takes a deep breath. He hopes Miz Kanata’s son is alright, but his first concern is Rey. He’ll need to pick her up and figure out what to do with her.

He ducks back inside and takes a deep breath. This is fine. He can handle this. Unamo and Solo can keep things locked down here for awhile, they aren’t even busy right now. So off he goes to find Catherine.

* * *

Rey gives him a weird look as she climbs in his car, clearly not expecting him to be the one picking her up. “Honey, I’m sorry, something’s come up. Miz Kanata can’t take care of you this evening, her son’s in the hospital.”

“Oh.”

“You’re going to come with me, just for tonight, alright?”

Rey looks up at him skeptically. “What?”

“It’ll be alright. You can come with me to work. There’s some room back by the office, you can get all your homework done there and we’ll pick up a couple books from home before we go.”

“Why can’t I just stay at home?”

“I’m not leaving you home alone, you’re not old enough yet.”

“I’m nine. That’s old enough.”

“The answer is no. Come on.”

* * *

Hux arrives in the lull before the dinner rush. There’s time to talk to Catherine and get Rey settled in the office, with the door open so she can hear what’s going on as she works on her homework.

He’s settled into the usual flow of things and doesn’t notice when she wanders out into the kitchen around 5:30.

“Chef,” Unamo gets his attention, then points across the kitchen to Solo’s station. Rey’s standing up close to the wall, watching Solo with rapt attention. He’s talking, prattling on about pasta, and even though Rey doesn’t respond, she’s watching everything he does carefully.

“Hey Rey, you doing alright?”

She starts, her attention broken. “Yeah.”

“Homework all done?”

“Yeah.” With a nod, she retreats to the office and settles with a book.

Unamo gives him a look like he kicked a puppy. “What?”

“I take back what I said, you’re terrible with kids.”

“I thought you meant she was bothering him.”

“I pointed it out to you cause I thought Solo was being cute with her!” she hisses back.

“Oh.”

Unamo rolls her eyes.

* * *

It’s another hour before Rey is drawn back out of the office again. She gravitates toward Solo, as she did before, and he rolls with it. As he sweeps around the kitchen, he grabs a wooden barstool for her and makes a spot at the far side of his station.

This time, Hux knows better than to interrupt. He watches and grudgingly admits that it’s sweet of Solo. 

Solo is...animated. He narrates what he’s doing to Rey, explaining things as he goes. She watches in silence, but it’s the sort of silence that comes with focus, not a lack of interest. It seems like an odd talent for him to have, but he’s as efficient as ever, so Hux can’t actually complain about him teaching as he works.

As he watches, he vaguely registers that Solo could have his own cooking show. He’s got the art of keeping up a steady stream of chatter and he’s never condescending with his explanations. Rey’s eyes are wide and interested as he rolls and rolls and rolls out pasta dough, prepping it for cutting and filling. 

“You know, a lot of people think of Italy when they think of pasta, but it actually originated in Asia. Rice noodles are much much older than flour noodles. Some people think Marco Polo brought the concept back to Europe, some people think it was Genghis Khan, but most historians will tell you the idea travelled along the Silk Road.”

Rey is hooked. She hardly blinks, listening to the history lesson as she watches him start cutting the rolled dough. He keeps the steady stream of chatter up as he fills the ravioli maker and seals them. It isn’t until he’s got an entire colander full that he slows down.

“Alright, enough history for now, I need to get these going.” Solo turns to do just that, focused as he ought to be.

Once they’re cooking, Hux says, “You seem to know a lot of history.”

“Well, I picked it up along the way. Kind of a side hobby.”

“Where were you trained?”

“A bit here, a bit there.” His attention is on the pot for a minute as he gently shifts the first batch of ravioli. 

“How about the basics?”

“My uncle. I might not agree with him on some things, but uncles can be pretty cool sometimes, don’t you think?” He winks at Rey. 

She mumbles something and Hux would swear her cheeks go red with a blush. He’s still trying to wrap his head around that as Solo’s words slot their way into place in his head. “Wait, really? I thought you said you travelled a ton.”

“I did, but I travelled with him. He was better than just about everyone anyway, he just toned it down. He had this…this way of getting in people’s heads, getting them to think they could teach him nearly anything. And most of the time, he _was_ learning, he just made them think he was learning much more basic stuff from them.” Solo grins. “To be honest, he was a right bastard sometimes. He’d talk recipe secrets out of the most uptight chef, believe me. It’d just…slip out.” He makes a vague wiggly motion with his fingers at Rey, who blushes without question and giggles. “Like liangfen from chopsticks.”

Hux is disoriented, to say the least. “Excuse me?”

“Long story. He was really good at talking people up.”

“What’s liangfen?” Rey pipes up.

“Well, it’s....”

“Chef, can you come take a look at this?” a somewhat miserable voice calls across the kitchen from the line.

Thanisson has butchered a pan of onions that should be caramelized, but have burned around the edges instead. Hux sniffs them and frowns. “You’re not sauteeing them, you’ve been too impatient.”

Thanisson looks down at the pan miserably. “Right. Uh. Is there any way to salvage this?”

Hux thinks the dish through for a moment and then nods. “From a technical viewpoint, no. But as far as the customer is likely concerned? Hopefully they won’t notice the change of onions. We can hide it.” It’s almost a pleasure to be able to show off one of his own lesser-known talents and he nearly smiles. It clearly disorients Thanisson, who takes a half-step back out of his way. “Let’s see what we can do, shall we?”

* * *

After saving Thanisson from near-disaster, he heads back toward his station. “Alright, who’s got 12? I walk away for ten minutes and…” 

Rey is sitting by Solo’s station, where she’d been before, but now she’s demolishing a bowl of ravioli. Even as he watches, she shoves an entire stuffed pasta pillow in her mouth. She’s got another forkful before she’s even swallowed.

Unamo nudges him with her elbow, snapping him out of it. She smiles faintly and nods her head toward Solo, who has his back to them as he rolls out the next batch of pasta. An unexpected wave of gratitude washes over him, and for the first time in a month, he feels like he can breathe.

After she eats, Rey hovers for another two hours or so, watching Solo work. She never seems to take her eyes off of him, but it seems to be admiration rather than fear.

When she finally starts to nod off, still sitting on the bar stool, Hux prods her gently awake and walks her to the office so she can curl up with his coat in the comfier office chair.

Later, he’s not sure how to let Solo know he’s grateful. Admitting it feels like a vulnerability, but Solo somehow got her to eat and he would give almost anything to know how he managed it. So Hux goes for the most direct method. The next time his path takes him close to where Solo is stationed at a stovetop, he simply and quietly says, “Thank you.”

Solo pauses, stirs the pot in front of him, then looks up. “You’re welcome.” His smile is a bit crooked. It’s almost endearing. “More than happy to help.”

Hux feels his face burning with embarrassment. “What, exactly, did you do to get her to eat?”

“Not really sure. I explained what I was doing as I worked, and then I put the ravioli there and just...expected her to eat it, I guess.”

It can’t be that simple. “And she did?”

Solo shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Right. Well...thank you.”

* * *

When they’re nearly finished up that evening, Solo sends both Unamo and Hux home, saying they both need the rest and he can handle closing. Hux has to wake Rey up, but she’s still drowsy as he bundles her into the car. They’re nearly home when she speaks. “Hey Uncle Tidge?”

“Yeah?”

“I need a t-shirt for a class project.”

“We’ll pick one up for you tomorrow, okay? You need your sleep.”

“Yeah, okay.”

And she does. She sleeps through the night. Hux wakes in the morning feeling rested for the first time in a long time, and the wave of relief threatens to crash over him as Rey willingly eats half her breakfast. It’s going to be an alright day, he can practically feel it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I suck guys. I honestly have no legitimate excuse, I've had this done for awhile but now I'm spite posting it cause I've been drowning in negativity today. Oops.
> 
> Those of you that are still around, I love y'all and I'll try to get the last chapter edited to my satisfaction asap. I told myself I can't start anything new until I finish at least two WIPs so...at least I've got something driving me and it should be done wayyy faster.

The lunch rush that day at work goes well. Too well. It’s early Thursday afternoon and things are slow, so Unamo starts on prep for the next day as Hux and Solo handle the covers for late lunch. It’s an almost relaxed pace, and Hux has the time to comment on Solo’s performance, which he does with relish.

“You should probably reduce that a bit more.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, I do know how to make a basic cherry reduction, Chef.”

“Are you going to show me? Because that, there, is too thin.”

“Don’t move,” Solo says, transferring the hotel of roasted pork loin and barely breaking stride in the mild argument. "And it's fine, I know what I'm doing."

“Chef…” Unamo tries to get his attention, but he’s busy telling Solo off.

“You can’t seriously think that.” A spoon dipped in the pan proves Hux's point. “Look at this, it’s too thin.”

“Chef.”

“I’m still working on it. And your spoon is in my area.”

“As I was saying, it needs to be reduced.”

Solo sighs. “And as I said, I’m working on it.”

“It's nowhere near-”

“Armitage.” Unamo’s voice snaps from her normal voice to her command voice. “Shut up. I think my water just broke.”

They both round on her with vaguely horrified expressions. She looks pained, her face drawn and pale. “What?”

“I think...I’m going into labor.” She takes a deep breath. “I need-”

“Oh my god but you’re not due for more than a month…?”

“Stop, just stop, alright? I need to get my bag from my car and then I need someone to drive me to the hospital.” She grimaces. “Where’s my phone, I need to call Anthony.”

“Isn’t he in Nevada?”

“I still need to call him, let him know this is happening. Can one of you please grab my bag?”

Solo pales. “What do we...do you need to sit down? We should call an ambulance, someone call 911.”

“No, no ambulance, that’s ridiculous. I’m not in active labor, my water just broke, it’ll be fine. Now if someone would kindly _grab my damn bag_ , I need my phone.”

Hux brings her the bag and she rifles about in it, finally coming up with her phone. “Good. Can one of you drive me to the hospital?”

* * *

As her closest friend on hand, Hux ends up driving. Catherine is understanding, if annoyed, about the biohazard cleanup. Solo takes control of the kitchen for the evening, and Hux knows it’s going to be a test of his mettle to keep things on time. If there’s anything Hux has ever been certain of in his life, it’s that Solo is competent enough to do this, but only as long as he stays on track.

And then it’s hours and hours and hours at the hospital as contractions start and he has to call and ask Miz Kanata if there’s any way she can keep Rey for the night because Mara is finally in active labor and it’s past 2am already but he doesn’t want to leave her alone? and Miz Kanata, bless her, agrees.

He takes a small breath of relief even as Mara's grip on his wrist threatens to cut off his circulation. He'd swear he can feel the bones grinding together.

And then the attending shows up and says she's in transition and things are moving much faster and the doctor is asking him if he’s the father and he’s never heard such an absurd question in his life. It must show on his face because Mara laughs hysterically through the discomfort between contractions and tells them the father will be on his way as soon as he can but he’s on base in Nevada and can they let Hux stay please, she needs someone and he’s the only one here right now and if her sister happens to show up, then they can make him leave if they need to. So he stays because she wants him to, and when she nearly breaks his wrist he wants to kill Anthony for not being here for her even though it's definitely not his fault. It's work's fault. It's life. Shit happens.

By 6am Mara’s daughter is there and she’s so _tiny_ and before he can really register what’s going on, she’s whisked away to the nicu for oxygen. And good god, Hux has never seen a newborn before, but anyone who has ever said a baby is beautiful is _insane_. She’s red and wrinkly and covered in blood and bodily fluids and something white and chunky. Disgusting. And at 6:10 he reminds himself that it’s just a little blood. It’s not that much blood, really.

Yeah, alright, it’s a lot of blood. But that’s...that’s normal for giving birth, right?

He’s bustled out of the room and toward the waiting room and it’s very clear it’s _not_ normal. Her sister shows up, and he fills her in on what he knows and introduces her to the nurses. She disappears back into one of the halls with them, and he's alone in the waiting room, the clock reading 6:35. It’s only halfway through his call to Miz Kanata, begging her to get Rey to school, that it sinks in that one of his only friends is possibly bleeding to death just down the hall. He doesn’t cry on the phone, but his voice cracks. Just a little.

* * *

He calls Catherine once they’ve got Mara stabilized and fills her in on the night’s events. They’re keeping her for observation and making sure both she and her daughter, listed as Ezra Joy Unamo, have recovered. Anthony's just landed and should be there within the hour and hell, Hux is exhausted. He’s so tired. Clearly not as tired as Mara freaking Unamo who just gave birth and nearly died from blood loss, but still tired.

By the time he gets back to the apartment, he realizes that Miz Kanata is a saint. She’s a saint or an angel in disguise or something because no reasonable human would ever be as nice as she's been.

He knocks on her door at 8:05, feeling wretched, and the look on her face tells him he looks just as shitty as he feels.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he croaks.

“How come you always look like hell when you come knocking on my door?”

“ ‘s life.”

She crosses her arms and frowns at him. “You need sleep.”

“Going to. Catherine told me to take the day.”

“You still need me to pick Rey up after school? I wasn’t sure what to tell her when I put her on the bus this morning.”

“No, I can get her. You’ve already done so much.” A wave of unexpected emotion catches up with him and he chokes a bit. “I really can't thank you enough.”

“You can make me a few more dinners or something. Now go on, get out of here and go sleep.”

* * *

Back in his apartment, he stumbles to the shower, exhausted and feeling like his skin is coated in residue from the hospital air.

One moment everything is fine, and the next the world is caving in. It’s as he’s scrubbing his skin raw to get the sick of the hospital air off of himself that it all crawls up his throat. He crumples with the weight of the emotions he’s somehow held off since the accident. Pain and fear and gut-wrenching sadness crawl out of the dark corners he’s shoved them in, and all of it at once takes him to the floor of the shower. The last few months hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, curling him in on himself reflexively.

And that’s…it, really. It’s like the bits and pieces of emotion that have made their way through the wall over the last few weeks have been just enough to keep the pressure from building up, but now he’s too tired to hold it back anymore, and it all comes crashing in. Huge, ugly sobs wrack him, tearing him to pieces and leaving him shaking on the cool tile floor of the shower. It’s too much to try to get up, so he turns the water up a bit hotter and stays there.

There’s still tension in his chest, and when it finally worms its way to the light, it surfaces as a couple of weak sobs, but then they’re out and it’s gone and the world is…empty. He exhales. It feels like all the air leaves his lungs, properly this time.

Eventually, the hot water runs out. After a minute or two of shivering, he manages to reach up and turn the water off. He crawls out of the shower and sits on the bathmat, curled in his towel until he can gather the strength to regain his feet.

It’s in a daze that he walks to his room. Boxers. The biggest fleece sweater he owns. Bed.

Sleep.

* * *

When he opens his eyes, his room is mostly dark. Street lights peek through the blinds, but otherwise it’s dark. His chest and shoulders ache, but he heaves a breath and pushes himself up to sitting, then standing. Moving.

There’s something in the back of his mind jostling for his attention, but he feels like he’s been hit by a bus. Everything aches and he’s drained. Walking to the kitchen takes so much energy he half-falls into the counter as he rifled about in the cabinet for tea. Kettle on. Mug. Tea packet.

The electric kettle boils and he wraps the blanket tighter around himself until it finishes. Mug. Water. Teabag. It steeps, and the rich aromatic scent revives him somewhat. Something keeps niggling at the back of his mind, and he can’t quite get a grasp on it.

When it’s finished steeping, he waits for his tea to cool just enough to drink it, and even then he nearly scalds himself trying to drink it.

7:04. But he doesn’t have to report to work tonight, Catherine told him to take the day and recover. Solo is probably having a hell of a time managing without him or Unamo, but it shouldn’t be too busy tonight. He can handle it.

7:05. He takes another sip of tea and manages not to burn his tongue this time.

The thing in the back of his mind snaps into focus.

Rey.

It’s evening. Rey isn’t here, and he’d _told Miz Kanata he would pick her up from school_.

“Fuck!”

* * *

He looks thoroughly wrecked when he shows up at the school, buzzing in and heading toward the after school care room run by the local YMCA. He’d filled out the forms her first week of school assuming he might need to have her stay occasionally if Miz Kanata couldn’t take her, but this is nothing like what he’d thought might happen.

The woman who runs Y-Care is less than impressed that she’d needed to stay without being called in beforehand, but she directs him to a back corner of the library where Rey’s tucked herself with her sweater and a book, the second-to-last kid to be picked up.

“Rey, I’m so…I’m so sorry, Mara had her baby and I just…” Her expression when she finally looks up at him is angry, so angry. Her whole face scrunches up with pent-up rage. “I screwed up, I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything as she grabs her backpack and books, and she glowers at him from the backseat of the car the whole way home. Dinner is unsuccessful as well. She doesn’t want to talk, and she barely picks at the pasta and sautéed vegetables he whips up.

When she disappears off to bed, he downs a bottle of wine and tries not to choke on the guilty feeling that he’s let down yet another person he cares about.

* * *

That week, things at home with Rey go poorly. She wakes from nightmares almost every night. There’s a point where Hux can’t remember the last time he got a full night of sleep. More often than not, after he picks her up from Miz Kanata’s he takes her home and has little luck getting her back to sleep. It becomes part of his daily routine to wake up in the morning wrapped up in a blanket on the couch or at the foot of her bed or on the floor, having fallen asleep trying to comfort her.

The therapist hasn’t made any progress, or doesn’t seem to have. The nightmares still hit her hard and she hasn’t made many friends at school. She’s eating a bit more, but it’s still a struggle. Everything is difficult, and even though he hates himself for it, he recognizes that the problem isn’t with work, it’s with Rey. 

Which...sounds horrible, to be honest, and doesn’t quite encompass the issue. He’s not trying to call her a problem child, she’s just lost both of her parents and that’s unfair. But she is a child, and she does have problems. Entirely justified problems. She doesn’t deserve this, but he’s not sure how to make things better. So he keeps pushing himself at work, the one place he’s really in control.

Even without Unamo, the first weekend goes fairly smoothly. They’re more pressed for time than usual, but it’s doable, and Hux is determined to make things work because damnit, he _can_ control the kitchen.

Sunday night after the crowd has petered out, Solo pulls him aside and mentions that they can cover for Unamo, and that people are getting tetchy with his constant hovering and corrections.

“Is it your goddamn kitchen, Solo?”

“No Chef. But I’m letting you know now, because it’s not to the point of a mutiny just yet.”

Hux deflates a bit, knowing Solo is right. “Right.”

There’s an awkward silence that stretches a bit too long, and Solo steps in to break it. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah just…stuff with Rey.”

“She eating?”

“Barely.”

“Why don’t you bring her in again? She seemed to do okay here, and she wasn’t in the way.”

Hux heaves a breath and considers. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Around the end of the lunch rush on Monday, his phone rings. Things seem to be going well, so he takes a minute to step out and get it. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mr. Hux?”

His gut clenches with unexpected fear. “Yes, I’m sorry, who is this?”

“This is Mrs. Fernandez, Rey’s teacher.”

“Is everything alright?”

“She’s at lunch, no need for immediate concern. I was, however, wondering if it would be possible to set up a parent-teacher conference with you.”

“I…um…” there’s cursing from the kitchen behind him, and he turns to find Thanisson has nicked himself with a knife and is rushing for the sink.

There's an awkward pause on the line, and then she continues as though she hasn't heard anything. “There are certainly some areas where she’s struggling more, and I think sitting down and discussing things would clear some of the issues up, or at least give us a path forward. I think she needs some support in the home, and she didn’t have the requested supplies for a class project last Friday.”

“The what?”

“They needed t-shirts, I sent a note home with all…”

He groans. “That was my fault, please don’t take it out on her. She told me she needed a shirt for school, and then I had a friend who went into labor, and we needed to get her to the hospital because her fiancé is out of the state and….and I completely forgot. If you give her another chance…”

“It was an in-class project, we’ve already completed them. We had enough materials to cover for her, she wasn’t excluded from the project because of this, but I think we need to make sure information from school is getting home, and her homework is coming back completed.”

“Oh.” He feels slightly less shitty that she hadn’t been left out.

“She’s really very bright, she just needs some more support. She’s not falling behind grade level just yet, but she was ahead of the class to start. She just hasn’t grown much since the beginning of her time with me, and that concerns me. If that trend continues, she’ll eventually fall behind.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Do you have a particular day that would work for you? I’m available from 3:15-5 after school is out Monday through....”

“Is there any chance you have today available?” He asks, riding the slim hope that he can get this meeting over and done with. “I think I could get some time this afternoon.”

“I think we can do that. We’ll have Rey stay so you can pick her up then.”

* * *

When students start coming out of the school to board busses, Hux heads in, signing in at the front office and heading toward Rey’s classroom. He waits outside as each group of kids is dismissed to board their respective busses, and when everyone has left, he knocks on the frame of the open door, as if asking for permission.

Mrs. Fernandez has the well-worn and faintly tired look of every elementary school teacher in their mid-thirties. “Rey, honey, could you wait outside please? You have a book?”

“Yeah.”

“You can take one of the classroom beanbags if you want, hang out in the hall by the backpack cubbies.”

“Okay.” She hefts a slouchy orange beanbag chair up and drags it with her out into the hall, passing her uncle on the way.

“Mr. Hux? If you’d shut the door, please.”

He takes the seat the offers him on the far side of her desk, and immediately wants out. The chair is too small, the classroom is too artificially cheerful, and the look she gives him as he sits down is slightly sympathetic but mostly unimpressed.

She doesn’t tell him much of anything he doesn’t already know, other than the fact that Rey has been struggling to turn things in. She’s smart, her teacher says, but she’s not learning anything new, and she’s clearly not getting the support she needs at home. They’ve set her up with weekly appointments to the school counselor, but she needs more.

She doesn’t explicitly say it, but it’s clear he’s the one that needs to pick up the slack. She needs a parent. Not a teacher, not a therapist, she needs a parent. And he needs to get his shit together and be one, damnit.

Hux comes out of the classroom feeling like he’s back in school and failed an exam, except worse, because this is his niece’s life he’s messing up, not his own.

Rey looks up from where she’s scrunched up in the beanbag. “So, what’d she say?”

“There’s some things we need to work on so you can be successful here at school.”

“We?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes, ‘we’.”

“She said you’re a shitty adult,” Rey says, approvingly.

“Watch your language,” he says automatically.

“She said you’re not a very good adult,” she amends, giving him a pointed look.

“Listen, Rey, I’m so sorry. Honey, I’m…I’m sorry, I’m…trying, I really am. I’m just…not very good at this.” It burns him to admit it, but he’s thoroughly unprepared to raise a kid and it’s not as easy as Lucy made it look. He sits down in the cubby next to her, which belongs to some kid named Caleb and is too small for the span of his shoulders. Still, this is a discussion they need to have. “You’re going to have to remind me about some stuff. And you did, you told me about the shirt, and it’s my fault that things got messed up. And I screwed up the other day, I didn’t mean to forget you, I swear. I just…I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re always thinking.” She closes her book up and stands up, grabbing the beanbag. “Just not about me.”

“Yeah. I know.” She stares at him and it stings. “So maybe sometimes you have to remind me I’m being a shitty adult, and I’ll try to do a better job of things, okay?”

She doesn’t quite smile, but some of the irritation drains out of her face and her posture. “Yeah. Okay.”

Rey dumps the beanbag in the classroom, says her goodbyes to her teacher, and shoves her book in her backpack. Hux slings the too-small pack over his shoulder as they walk back down the hall toward the front office, where he needs to sign out. “How about you think of a way I can make it up to you?”

She looks up at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Like…a treat, or a wish, or something maybe we wouldn’t normally do? And I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

Rey frowns. “Like…right now?”

“No, you can wait and think about it awhile if you want.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah.”

* * *

He spends his Tuesday off meal-prepping for the next week. When he’s finished, he runs food over to Miz Kanata’s as an apology for the mess of the previous week.

Miz Kanata opens her door with a frown. “You didn’t tell me you needed me to sit for you today.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you have a few minutes to talk about Rey.” He smiles as disarmingly as he can. “I brought you food.”

She sighs and waves him in. “Yes, alright, come in.” They talk for the better part of an hour about Rey and what he’s struggling with.

“My boys didn’t like to do their homework either,” she says, eyes twinkling cheerfully from behind her oversized bifocals as she pours cups of coffee. “Took me a couple years of keeping close tabs on all their assignments to really get them on track. She’s smart though, she’s got that going for her. You just need to pay more attention.”

“I’m not really sure how to with my work schedule.”

She gives him a dry glare. “It’s your day off, I’d say you start today. Take her to the library after school and talk to her, get a better idea of what she needs.”

* * *

Miz Kanata is right, of course. She’s always right. Rey gets a huge stack of books at the library and they stop for ice cream on the way home. Rey gets an ungodly conglomeration of rainbow-colored superman ice cream and a second scoop of chocolate, and then has the gall to make a face at his dish of butter pecan.

He brings up the homework issue and she shies away from it, demolishing the top scoop of chocolate without responding. He sighs and tries again. “How about we set some rules, alright?”

Rey gives him a suspicious glare. “Like what?”

“Well, I’m asking you so we can try to make them fair. You’ve got to get assignments turned in. Mrs. Fernandez says you do fine in class when she can keep you on task. You’re very smart.”

Rey preens a bit at that, and he knows he’s on the right track. “I know.”

“But your grades aren’t very good because you don’t turn your homework in.”

She looks down at the table and won’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“So what can we do to get you to focus on your homework and get it done?”

With a dramatic sigh, Rey pushes herself back from the table. “It’s just so _boring_.”

“Well...sometimes work is boring. That’s why it’s work.”

“Your work isn’t boring.”

Hux pauses and thinks about his job. She’s right there, it’s almost never boring in the kitchen. Repetitive and exhausting, but not boring. “No, but…”

“Why can’t I just go to work with you instead of going to Miz Kanata’s? It’s boring there too.”

For once, pieces of his life seem to be falling in place. “Well. You can, maybe a couple times a week on nights when we’re not as busy. How about that?”

“Yeah!”

“But you have to stay in the office and get your homework before you’re allowed to hang out with the adults. And you can’t bother anybody.”

“That sounds…!” she catches herself and tones it down, trying to look less excited. “Um. Fair?”

“How about we try it this week and see how it goes?”

“I won’t bother anyone, I promise.”

“I doubt you will, but we still have to make sure. Other people still have to do their jobs, they can’t spend all their time talking.” She nods and frowns, picking at the grippy paper stuck around her ice cream cone. “You know, there are some people there who liked you being around.”

“Ben?” She practically lights up.

“You like him, huh?”

She shoves the entire rest of the cone in her mouth and mumbles, “He’s cool.”

“It’s a deal then, you can come with me to work a couple times a week if you get your homework done. And I’ll be checking with Mrs. Fernandez.”

* * *

It works. He’s not quite sure how things went this right, but it works. Rey comes with him Mondays and Wednesdays, and begs him to let her come Thursdays too. She usually gets her homework done in an hour or so and then she hovers, watching Solo or occasionally Thanisson without comment for hours on end.

After two weeks, she and Solo have built an easy rapport that goes back and forth. She tells him about her school day and he tells her about whatever he’s making, and when they run out of those things, she tells him about whatever book she’s reading or he tells her about his travels.

It almost infuriates Hux that Solo has so little trouble talking to her. When she’s around him, it’s almost impossible to get her to shut up, not that Hux wants her to. Talking to Dr. Schroeder the next week, he seems to think that anyone that can get her talking is worth keeping around, so Hux lets it go. Or he tries, for her sake.

Even if it still annoys him that she’s taken a liking to Solo, of all people.

* * *

Hux is only half-listening when Rey makes her move the third week.

“Hey Ben?”

She takes up her seat on an old bar stool, high enough that she can perch and watch what’s happening around the kitchen. It’s her preferred place when she’s at Críoch, even though she’s basically got her own corner of the office at this point. “Mmhm? What’s up buttercup?”

“You’re not working tomorrow, right?”

“Nope. It’s Tuesday, we’re closed. Neither is your uncle.”

“Are you busy?”

He gives her a suspicious look. “What’s this about?”

“I want to learn how to make ramen.”

He whistles. “That’s a pretty tall order, you know. It’s a lot of work.”

“Yeah but you talk about it all the time.”

“Your uncle…”

“He kind of sucks at making soup.”

Hux is, unfortunately, paying enough attention to catch her comment. “Excuse me?!” he says indignantly.

Solo laughs so hard he chokes and gasps for breath. “I’m pretty sure he’s very good at making soup. But, for the record, ramen isn’t just soup, it’s much more than that.”

“You know how to make it though. He doesn’t.”

“And did you ask him that?”

She sighs and makes a face. “Well, no. I wanted to ask you if you’d do it before I asked him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause if you say yes, he has to let me. He owes me.”

“He owes you?” Solo shakes his head. “What for?”

She stares Hux down from the other side of the counter and he stands aghast, realizing he’s been played by a _child_. She’s going to tattle on him to Solo and make him look like a horrible parent. Which he is, but that’s beside the point.

“He’s a shitty adult,” she says with barely repressed glee.

“Watch your language,” Hux says, automatic at this point, then turns to Solo, who is clearly trying not to laugh again. “I failed at basic parenting.”

“He forgot me at school.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Hux says exasperatedly.

“Yeah, and you said you’d make it up to me!” she’s half-pouting at this point.

“I said _I_ would make it up to you, I’m not pulling somebody else into this too.”

“But Ben knows how to make ramen already.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out.”

“I want Ben to teach me.” She says it with all the conviction of a nine year old who’s already won.

“I’m sure he’s very busy, that’s not necessary.”

“Nah, I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow,” Solo pipes up.

Later, he corners Solo out of earshot. “You realize she’s manipulating both of us to get what she wants.”

Solo shrugs. “Mmhm. But I can’t actually complain.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because now I get to find out what you’re like when you don’t have a kitchen to run,” Solo says with a smug smile.

Hux blinks, trying to process that. “Excuse me?”

“Do you actually unwind a bit outside of work?”

“I keep my work and personal life separate, thank you very much.”

“Right. Your place or mine?”

“I’ve got a fully stocked kitchen, there’s no reason not to use it.” He shudders at the thought of Solo’s apartment. If his chaotic personality is anything to judge by, it will be a disaster. Then he pauses. “Did you just invite yourself to my place?”

“No, your niece invited me to hers, which just happens to also be yours. Which you, in turn, just invited me to. Anyway, I’ll do the shopping and prep the slow-cook things ahead of time.”

Clearly, this is happening, and any objections Hux has are being ignored by his sous chef and a nine year old. He sighs, resigned. “What do you want me to have on hand?”

“I’ll bring everything I need, it’s all good. How about six? Seven?”

“Seven is fine.”

Solo runs off and he’s left with the distinct feeling he’s been hustled at his own game.

* * *

Rey is far more excited for Solo to come over for dinner than soup could possibly warrant, but he can’t help but smile as she chatters while getting ready for school.

When he gets back from dropping her off, Hux stress cleans the apartment, telling himself all the while that it doesn’t matter, that Solo’s place is undoubtably messier, that he’s not even a special guest he’s just a coworker coming over because Rey is a manipulative little shit.

Still, if Solo is going to be using his kitchen, it will damn well be _spotless_ before he shows up.

That way, any mess can be blamed directly on those two monsters.

* * *

Solo shows up at 6:58, both arms full of grocery bags and two totes slung over his shoulders. He’s a whirlwind of food and bags and tupperware once Hux shows him to the kitchen, and Rey is downright _delighted_.

“Here, Solo, you should…” 

“You know, when we’re not at work, it’s easier if you just call me Ben.” He grins. “And you don’t get to boss me around if I’m not getting paid to put up with it.”

“But there’s…”

“Rey and I can handle this. Just relax, we’ll make dinner, it’ll be great.”

Hux is indignant. “This is _my_ apartment, and still my kitchen.”

“What do you think Rey?” Solo...no, he corrects himself, Ben turns to her and crosses his arms. “You want your uncle to help?”

“Uncle Tidge. Out.” Rey stares him down and points out of the kitchen. “You said Ben could teach me.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave it to the two of you. Don’t make a mess for me to clean up.”

Ben looks like he might laugh from where he stands at the stove, mixing something in a saucepan. “Tidge, huh?”

Hux gives him the flattest look he can manage as Rey starts to push him out the door. “If you call me anything other than Armitage I’ll throw you out of my apartment. And if you call me that at work I’ll throw you out of my kitchen.”

“Well, currently your niece is throwing you out, so don’t mind me if I take that threat with a grain of salt.”

* * *

He hovers in the doorway, watching and trying to keep his mouth shut as Ben walks her through the steps he claims are necessary for good ramen. The broth he’d brought, once heated, is a pale yellow, but unlike a good French stock, it’s opaque. Hux watches it heat at a sub-simmer on the stove, the surface almost still.

Ben puts Rey up on a chair so she can see the stovetop and talks her through caramelizing onions and garlic and ginger. It’s enough of a distraction that Hux dips into the kitchen, dancing around Ben to snag a taste of the broth.

It’s almost ungodly rich, full to brimming with flavor, even though it’s nothing but broth. The soft noise that slips from his mouth is involuntary, but Ben catches it and flashes him a grin over Rey’s shoulder. “Good, huh?”

“Delicious.”

“It better be. A good tonkatsu ramen broth takes forever.”

“How long did this take you?”

“Not as long as the pork belly. Would you believe, out of sheer dumb luck, I already had it marinating? All I had to do was throw it in the sous-vide when I got back from work last night. Chilled it a couple hours this afternoon, should be ready to slice and serve up when we’re done here.”

Hux’s mouth waters just thinking about it. Food hasn’t sounded so good in _months_. “Jesus. You went all-out.”

“I promised Rey real ramen, so that’s what I prepped.” He turns to her where she’s working on grating garlic. “What do you think?”

She leans in and sniffs the mixture as it sizzles. “It smells good so far.” 

They work in silence for a couple minutes, Hux standing aside and watching until the quiet gets to him. “Where did you learn how to make this?”

“An old friend of my uncle’s, Telsij Eiji. Owned a little hole-in-the-wall place in Kochi. Learned from the best and I know damn well I’m still not good enough to have my own place.” Ben winces crookedly. “Admittedly it’s pretty cringy for a white guy to talk about owning a ramen place. But I can still appreciate it on my own, you know?” 

Hux admits to himself that he hadn’t expected Ben to have the sort of self-awareness that sentiment requires. He also admits he has no idea where Kochi is. “Assume I know nothing about Japan.”

“Right, okay. So that area is known for udon more than ramen.” He shrugs. “I was about 12 at the time, so I didn’t so much learn it directly from him as from my uncle, who learned it from him. I mostly just bussed tables or prepped ingredients I couldn’t screw up.”

“So...what exactly are you doing here?”

“Well, you’ve got your broth, your _tare_ , your noodles, and your toppings...” He rambles on for a couple minutes about the history of ramen and the flavor profiles of different regions, only changing topics when Rey asks him about the mixture that’s starting to simmer.

“Thoughts on a wine pairing?”

Ben looks pleasantly confused, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Usually it’s beer. I’m not...” He pauses to think it over. “Uh. Maybe a Riesling? Or...actually, scratch that, how about something red and rich but low on tannins? Got a Pinot Noir on hand?”

“I’ll one-up you. How about a Spanish Rioja?”

“I’m going to be honest, I’m just taking an educated guess, so if that sounds good to you, I’m game.” Ben shrugs.

* * *

Dinner is delicious. In fact, delicious is an understatement. Maybe it’s the wine that loosens his lips, but Hux is liberal with the praise. Ben soaks it up and answers every question he has with ease.

Rey _demolishes_ her first bowl, which is as big as her head, and goes back for seconds. She polishes off a second bowl as they’re only finishing up their first, and Hux is left wondering where she’s put it all. She’s _tiny_ , and he’s full after a single bowl.

After dinner, she wants to watch Jurassic World, which Hux nixes until Ben speaks up and notes that it isn’t that scary even though it’s pg-13. Hux sighs and caves, too content to argue further.

“If she has nightmares, I’m going to assign you the worst possible tasks in the kitchen for the next month,” he says to Ben as she bounces on the couch, getting the movie ready.

“From what you’ve said, it sounds like a nightmare about dinosaurs would be an improvement,” Ben replies, quiet enough that she can’t hear.

They polish off the rest of the bottle of wine during the movie, chatting about work schedules through the credits until Ben nods to Rey. “She’s out.”

She’s curled up on the couch, fast asleep. “Yeah, alright. Let me put her to bed, I’ll be back.”

He picks her up and carries her to bed. She stirs, but not enough to wake, and he doesn’t have the heart to wake her up and have her brush her teeth or put pajamas on. Any sleep she can get, she needs.

Once she’s tucked in, he finds Ben out in the living room on his phone. He looks up, sympathetic. “She alright?”

“Yeah, she just needs sleep.” Hux considers. “It’s Tuesday and it’s already been a long week. I’m going to open another bottle.”

“Go for it, it’s your place.”

Hux gives him a glare, but there’s no anger in it, only dry humor. “I meant ‘do you have any preference?’ more than ‘excuse me for drinking’.”

“Oh. Um. No, not really. Nothing super sweet. You don’t really strike me as a dessert wine person, so I’m not too worried.”

“I’ll have you know I can down a sweet Rose as well as any middle-aged wine mom when I feel like it, thank you very much,” Hux says as he considers the selection of wine he has in the cooler and picks a red demi sec.

Ben snorts. “Of course, I never doubted you for a second.” He climbs up as Hux opens the bottle and makes his way back to the kitchen.

They split the bottle and just…talk. It’s nice to have the opportunity when normally they don’t. Conversation swings from food to travel to movies and back to Rey. When they finally get up to do dishes, it occurs to Hux that this is more social contact than he’s had with anyone in months. When was the last time he had someone over for dinner and drinks? He has no idea.

A brief, uncomfortable scan of his current social circle explains why. Up until the last year, he and Mara had gotten together every couple of weeks for dinner and drinks, as they were both pathetically lonely people with no nearby family. But with the pregnancy that had dwindled, and when Rey had entered the picture, every day had become a sort of…frantic mess that Hux simply tried to get through. There hadn’t been _anything_ he’d done of late simply for the social aspect of it.

Ben is, he admits to himself, good company. Particularly because he doesn’t seem to mind doing the dishes.

It’s that musing that puts him on the topic of long term plans, but Ben seems aghast that he doesn’t have any plans beyond Críoch. “I have my own kitchen, what more could I want?”

“I mean, what about the rest of your life? Not interested in the two-point-one kids and a dog and a house somewhere in the suburbs?”

Hux snorts at the prospect, grabbing a clean plate to dry. “Have you seen how I handle Rey? I’m a terrible parent. Kids were never even a consideration until her.”

“Well, what do you want then?”

“Listen, my long term plan is to retire comfortably and die alone, the grumpy asshole on the corner somewhere in suburbia, yelling at kids to get off my lawn.” He reconsiders. “If I can afford a place with a lawn. I’m going to get Rey through school first, then we’ll see. Her parents had a 529 started for her but everything with their estate is...complicated. It’s all just complicated.”

Ben shakes his head. “You’re not going to die alone, people like you.”

“People like me about as much as they like burned toast. Don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but I’m still an asshole, even outside of the kitchen. People don’t like me, they tolerate me.”

He doesn’t even want to think about the fact that his prospective dating pool is rather more limited than most people’s. It’s something most of the other employees know, but come to think of it, he’s not sure Ben knows he isn’t straight. In light of the ‘two-point-one kids and a dog’ comment, he’s almost certain Ben doesn’t know. The weeks after the funeral are a blur, and it’s entirely possible he failed to mention his dating history.

He turns to find Ben giving him a look he can’t quite pin down. There’s a long moment of silence, broken when Ben turns back to the sink and says, “Well. I like you.”

A momentary wave of melancholy catches him by surprise. Somewhere between school and work, he let life pass him by, and it feels too late to really try to recover it now. Seeing as he hasn’t been on so much as a date in years, and it’s highly unlikely any time in the near future, it almost doesn’t seem to matter.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re going to stick around forever, you know? That’s the thing about people in life, they never stay. Everyone goes their separate ways, and then this happens.” Hux waves around at the apartment. He sighs and puts the towel down to take another sip of wine.

“I mean. I could?”

He can’t help but laugh helplessly at the idea. “I don’t know what you’re planning to do with the rest of your life, but if you’re content to stay at Críoch, I’ll tell you right now you’re wasting your talent.”

“Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to hold up when we’re at work.” He’s vaguely uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken, and the dishes are almost done. “I’m going to crack open another bottle. They disappear way too fast with two people instead of one. You want another glass?”

“Sure.” Ben puts the last pot on the drying rack and grabs a dishtowel to dry his hands as he quickly changes the topic. “What do you think about switching up the stuffed chicken recipe? I was thinking about it the other day and I bet we could get away with…” Hux turns as he finishes pouring the second glass, nearly running into him. Ben grabs his shoulder in an effort to avoid body-checking him and freezes. They’re face to face, unintentionally mere inches apart.

This close, he’s reminded that Ben only has a couple inches on him. It shouldn’t feel like much, but Ben has the sort of huge presence that feels overwhelming even at a distance. For as brash as Ben usually is, he’s abruptly quiet. Uncertain. His eyes flick down to Hux’s lips, then back.

For a moment, Hux’s chest tightens. Ben’s mouth starts to shape a word, and he hesitates.

There’s a thump on the wall from the back bedroom that startles both of them, and then crying. Hux’s heart feels like it’s attempting to crawl up his throat and he steps back, swallowing it back down and taking a deep breath to compose himself. “She’s...uh. She’s probably going to be up most of the night now. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...you should...probably go.”

Ben recovers quickly, although his expression is impossible to read. “I mean. It doesn’t bother me. I can stick around, unless you’re kicking me out.”

Hux goes to check on her, head spinning. It’s nothing. He’s desperate. His mind is playing tricks on him. Anything to keep from really thinking about what _hadn’t_ just happened.

There’s no settling Rey, so he promises to make her some hot cocoa lets her come back out to the living room. She looks a bit surprised that Ben is still there sitting on the couch with his phone, and once she’s got a mug of cocoa in hand she makes her thoughts known. “What are you doing here?”

“I can leave if you want.”

“No, wait, why?” She looks between him and Hux, panicked for a moment. “Please don’t leave.”

“You should try to get some sleep.”

“Sometimes Uncle Tidge reads to me until I can go to sleep,” Rey says. She looks at him for a minute, puts her cocoa down, and walks back to her room. She returns and hands him a book. “If you’re going to stay, you can read to me.” And that’s it, really. It’s not a question if he will or won’t, because she grabs the blanket off the couch and curls up in it.

“Alright, if we’re going to do this, you have to bring me up to speed.”

“Okay so there’s Matt and Kate, and they’re working together to find out if the cloud cats her grandpa wrote about are real.”

“Cloud cats?”

“Yeah.”

Ben, bless him, doesn’t laugh. He takes it completely seriously. “And…?”

“And this is where I’m at.” She points to a paragraph about halfway down the bookmarked page. Without further comment, she scootches up and curls up next to him.

Ben glances up at Hux, who tries not to laugh as he flops down on the loveseat. “Go for it. If I fall asleep, wake me up when you need to go and I’ll take over.”

It isn’t long before Hux passes out to the steady sound of his voice.

* * *

He wakes with a blanket draped over him, disoriented until he looks at his watch. 2:11. Rey is curled up on the couch, asleep, and there are faint sounds coming from the kitchen.

Hux sits up to find Ben’s back to him as he washes the last of the dishes. He watches him put the wine glasses on the drying rack, then glance around for anything else. When he doesn’t find anything, he hangs the dishcloth over the oven handle and turns, leaning back against the counter and giving a small grin when he sees Hux is awake. “Look who finally decided to wake up.”

The scowl Hux gives him is halfhearted and tired. “I _did_ tell you to wake me up when you needed to go.”

“I know, I was just getting ready to go, figured I’d wake you up to lock the door behind me.”

There’s a momentary lull, where they sit and stand respectively, looking at each other in the silence. It doesn’t feel awkward, it simply is what it is. Hux eventually breaks it, nodding toward the sink. “You didn’t need to get the dishes. Thanks, though.”

Ben shrugs. “No problem.”

It feels too simple, too easy. He can’t be fully awake yet if Ben is just accepting his thanks without so much as a quip. With that observation, Hux pushes himself to his feet, stretching and groaning as his shoulders and neck give a series of satisfying cracks. 

Everything feels slow and a bit muted, but bits and pieces seem to stand out with surreal definition, like a dream. Ben grabs his jacket and swings it around his shoulders. He grabs his shoes, pulls them on, stands up. There’s a moment where he almost says something, seems to think better of it, then says, “I’ll see you at work then,” and opens the door.

A surge of panic and melancholy washes over Hux, and it occurs to him that if he lets Ben leave without saying something, the door might close and everything might go back to the way it was and that _isn’t what he wants_. He doesn’t want to go back to antagonizing Ben simply for the sake of it, he doesn’t want to go back to clashing the way they had. He wants some sort of social interaction beyond work, and they get along, and he’d told Ben he was going to die alone and he sounded desperate but he _is_ desperate and...

The pressure of it all it bubbles up and out, pushing him to say something, anything, that might save the thing that’s growing between them. “Ben, about earlier…”

Ben’s eyes widen and he stumbles over an apology. “I didn’t...it was unprofessional and uncalled for, I just...I read things wrong, I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t read anything wrong.” It’s out and Hux blinks, surprised at his own lack of a filter. He’s tired and he’s doing this wrong but it feels like it’s now or never and words are failing him. 

They appear to be failing Ben too, and he stands there gaping for a moment before he recovers, looking hopeful. “Then...can I-?”

Half-convinced he’s dreaming, Hux nods.

Even given permission, Ben hesitates. When it comes, the press of his lips is simple. Sweet. But it’s more than Hux could have imagined a day ago, and it’s _real_. He’s exhausted and his skin is crackling like a live circuit and he can’t decide if he wants to drag Ben back inside or if he wants to stand in the doorway and simply melt into it.

Ben backs off quickly, looking at him as if worried he’s gone too far. It’s like he’s waiting to be told off, but that’s the furthest thing from Hux’s mind. The pressure in his chest leaves with an exhale.

It all feels hyperreal, like he can take in every single detail of it at the same time. The texture of Ben’s shirt under his fingers, the lump of the button caught in the handful of fabric, the way Ben almost leans into it as he lets Hux pull him forward for another kiss. The slight jolt as his heel catches on the threshold. The plush of Ben’s lower lip and the way he gasps for breath when they part again. The way his pupils are blown wide when Hux opens his eyes.

He wants more, he wants so much more but he’s afraid to rush this. Whatever _this_ is, Hux thinks, it has potential, even if it’s the potential to ruin things at work.

Ben voices the same thought. “What are we going to do? About work? Is this…?”

It’s too many questions and Hux doesn’t have answers right now. Out of habit he turns to logic, approaching it from the most practical stance he can. “I’m more than capable of keeping my work and personal lives separate, you need to decide if you are. We figure this out some other time, because I’m sure two in the morning isn’t great for either of us. And nothing changes in the kitchen, we do the same thing as we always do.”

Ben hesitates, then grins as he steps back out of Hux’s space and simultaneously out the door.. “You mean you tell me what to do and I do what I want?”

“You know, I’m glad I’m not the only one that sees it that way.” Hux can’t help but return his smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> As befits this story, I need to note that September is Hunger Action Month. If you have a few dollars to spare (maybe as a tip for reading this piece?), please consider donating to your local food bank, or if you'd like to donate a little closer to the setting of this story, consider donating to the Greater Chicago Food Bank: https://www.chicagosfoodbank.org/
> 
> "The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread."  
> ...but going hungry sucks. A lot.


End file.
